GABRIELS WING

Allama Muhammad Iqbal

INTERNATIONAL IQBAL SOCIETY www.iqbal.com.pk

Gabriels Wing 249

GABRIELS WING
Arise in order that we may make the order of the suns journey fresh That we may make the burnt out spirit of evening and morning fresh. * The heart of a diamond can be cut by the leaf of a flower; A soft and gentle word has no effect on a stupid man! My epiphany of passion causes commotion in the precinct of the Divine Essence, Strikes terror in the pantheon of His Attributes. The houri and the angel are captives of my imaginations My glance ruffles Your Manifestations. My quest is the architect of the Mosque and the idolhouse, Though my song causes tumult both in the Kabah and Somnath. My sharp vision pierced through the core of existence; Confounded by my illusions at yet another time. Oh what a rash deed that You did not leave me hidden: I was the only secret in the conscience of the universe! [Translated by the Editors] BartariHari

250 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal [Translated by D.J. Matthews] Was it Yours or mine? [Translated by Mustansir Mir] * All potent wine is emptied of Thy cask; Art Thou, indeed, a Cupbearer, may I ask? Thou gavest me a drop from an ocean; Art Thou a miser in a Nourishers mask? Love concealed, and beauty too! [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Reveal Yourself to me, or reveal me to myself. You are the limitless ocean and I am but a tiny rivulet Either make Your peer or turn me limitless at least. If I am a motherofpearl, the lustre of my pearl is in Your hands, But if I am a piece of brick, give me a diamonds sheen. If I am not destined to sing at the advent of Spring, Make this halfenraptured breath a skylark of the Spring. Why did You order me to quit the Garden of Eden? Now there is much to be done hereso just wait for me! When the roll of my deeds is brought up on the Day of Reckoning, Be ashamed as You will shame me. [Translated by the Editors]1 * Make our hearts the seats of mercy and love, more: Ravish the senses and the mind, ravish the heart and the eyes.

3
Bright are Your tresses: brighten them even

2
If the stars have strayed To whom do the heavens belong, You or Me? Why must I worry about the world To whom does this world belong, You or Me? If the Placeless Realm Offers no lively scenes of passion and longing, Whose fault is that, my Lord? Does that realm belong to You or to me? On the morning of eternity he dared to say No, But how would I know why Is he Your confidant, or is he mine? Muhammad is Yours, Gabriel is Yours, The Quran is Yours But this discourse, This exposition in melodious tunes, Is it Yours or is it mine? Your world is illuminated By the radiance of the same star Whose loss was the fall of Adam, that creature of earth,
1

Based on partial translations by Annemarie

Schimmel and Sayyad Fayyaz Mahmood in Iqbal:

Gabriels Wing 251 And make them in Thy thought for ever move; Give the invincible power of Ali the brave, To one whom gavest Thou poor means to live. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]
Poet of Tomorrow edited by Khawaja Abdur Rahim; and Naim Siddiqui in BaaliJibreel.

That my insights should be shared by all! [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

4
Whether or not it moves you, At least listen to my complaint It is not redress this free spirit seeks. This handful of dust, This fiercely blowing wind, And these vast, limitless heavens Is the delight You take in creation A blessing or some wanton joke? The tent of the rose could not withstand The wind blowing through the garden: Is this the spring season, And this the auspicious wind? I am at fault, and in a foreign land, But the angels never could make habitable That wasteland of yours. That stark wilderness, That insubstantial world of Yours Gratefully remembers my love of hardship. An adventurous spirit is ill at ease In a garden where no hunter lies in ambush. The station of love is beyond the reach of Your angels, Only those of dauntless courage are up to it. * Give to the youth my sighs of dawn; Give wings to these eaglets again, This, dear Lord, is my only wish

5
What avails love when life is so ephemeral? What avails a mortals love for the immortal? Love that is snuffed out by deaths passing blast Love without the pain, the passion that consumes? A flickering spark I am, aglow for a fleeting glance Flow vain for a flickering spark to chase an eternal flame! Grant me the bliss of eternal life, O Lord, And mine will be the ecstasy of eternal love. Give me the pleasure of an everlasting pain An agony that lacerates my soul for ever. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

6
My scattered dust charged with Love The shape of heart may take at last: O God, the grief that bowed me then May press me down as in the past! The Maids of Eden by their charm May arouse my urge for song: The flame of Love that burns in me, May fire the zeal of Celestial Throng! The pilgrims mind can dwell at times On spots and stages left behind: My heed for spots and places crossed,

252 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal From the Quest may turn my mind! By the mighty force of Love I am turned to Boundless Deep: I fear that my selfregard, Me, for aye, on shore may keep! My hectic search for aim and end, In life that smell and hue doth lack, May get renown like lovers tale, Who riding went on litters track! The rise of clayborn man hath smit The hosts of heaven with utter fright: They dread that this fallen star To moon may wax with fuller light. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * Thy world the fishs and the winged things bower; My world a crying of the sunrise hour; In Thy world I am helpless and a slave; In my world is Thy kingdom and Thy power. For still your face is hidden, veiled and unguessed, oh Saki. Unchanged is Persias garden: soil, stream, Tabriz, unchanged; And yet with no new Rumi is her land graced, oh Saki. But of his barren acres Iqbal will not despair: A little rain, and harvests shall wave at last, oh Saki! On me, a beggar, secrets of empire are bestowed; My songs are worth the treasures Parvez amassed, oh Saki. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] * Due to Thy benevolence, I am not without merit, However, I am not a slave to a Tughral or a Sanjar; It is my nature to see the world as it is; But, in no case, am I the Cup of any Jamshid! [Translated by A. Anwar Beg]

7
Contrary runs our planet, the stars whirl fast, oh Saki! In every atoms heartbeat a Doomsday blast, oh Saki! Torn from Gods congregation its dower of faith and reason, And godlessness in fatal allurement dressed, oh Saki! For our inveterate sickness, our wavering heart, the cure That same joydropping nectar as in the past, oh Saki. Within Islams cold temple no fire of longing stirs,

8
Set out once more that cup, that wine, oh Saki Let my true place at last be mine, oh Saki! Three centuries Indias wineshops have been closed, And now for your largesse we pine, oh Saki; My flask of poetry held the last few drops Unlawful, says our crabbd devine, oh Saki. Truths forest hides no lionhearts now: men grovel Before the priest, or the saints shrine, oh Saki. Who has borne off Loves valiant sword?

Gabriels Wing 253 About An empty scabbard Wisdoms hands twine, oh Saki. Verse lights up life, while heart burns bright, but fades For ever when those rays decline, oh Saki; Bereave not of its moon my night; I see A full moon in your goblet shine, oh Saki! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] * He is the essence of the Space as well as the Placeless Realm And Space is nothing but a figure of speech: How could Khizer tell, and what, If the fish were to ask, Where is the water? [Translated by the Editors] Hold gems of purest ray serene: The gems retain in midst of brine Their essence bright and clean. Through the poets quickening gaze The rose and tulip lovelier seem: No doubt, the minstrels piercing glance Is nothing less than magic gleam. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * At times, Love is a wanderer who has no home, And at times it is Noshervan, the King of Kings: At times it comes to the battlefield in full armor, And at times naked and weaponless. [Translated by the Editors]

9
My Saki made me drink the wine Of There is no god but He: From the illusive world of sense, This cup divine has set me free. Now I find no charm or grace In song and ale, or harp and lute: To me appeal the tulips wild, The riverside and mountains mute. My flagon small is blessing great, For the age athirst and dry: In the cells where mystics swell Big empty gourds are lying by. In love a novice I am yet, Much good for you to keep apart, For my glance is restive more Than my wild and untamd heart. The dark unfathomed caves of sea,

10
Slow fire of longingwealth beyond compare; I will not change my prayermat for Heavens chair! Ill fits this world of Your freemen, ill the next: Deaths hard yoke frets them here, lifes hard yoke there. Close veils inflame the loiterer in Loves lane; Your long reluctance fans my passions flare. The hawk lives out his days in rocks and desert, Tame nesttwigcarrying his proud claws forswear. Was it booklesson, or fathers glance, that taught The son of Abraham what son should bear? Bold hearts, firm souls, come pilgrim to my tomb;

254 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal I taught poor dust to tower hillhigh in air. Truth has no need of me for tiringmaid; To stain the tulip red is Natures care. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] * Love, sometimes, is the solitude of Nature; It is, sometime, merrymaking and companyseeking: Sometime the legacy of the mosque and the pulpit, Sometime Lord Ali the Vanquisher of the Khyber! [Translated by the Editors] [Translated by Victor Kiernan] * Grant me the absorption of the souls of the past, And let me be of those who never grieve; The riddles of reason I have solved, but now, O Lord! Give me a life of ecstasy. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

12
By dint of Spring the poppycup, With vintage red is overflown: With her advent the hermit too Temperance to the wind hath thrown. When great and mighty force of Love At some place its flag doth raise, Beggars dressed in rags and sack Become heirs true to King Parvez. Antique the stars and old the dome In which they roam about and move: I long for new and virgin soil Where my mettle I may prove. The stir and roar of Judgement Day Hath no dread for me at all: Thine roving glance doth work on me Like the Last Days Trumpet Call. Snatch not from me the blessing great Of sighs heaved at early morn: With a casual loving look Weaken not thine fierce scorn. My sad and broken heart disdains The Spring and dower that she brings: Too joyous the song of nightingale! I feel more gloomy when it sings. Unwise are those who tell and preach Accord with times and the age. If the world befits you not,

11
Have You forgotten then my heart of old, That college of Love, that whip that bright eyes hold? The schoolbred demigoddesses of this age Lack the carved grace of the old pagan mold! This is a strange world, neither cage nor nest, With no calm nook in all its spacious fold. The vine awaits Your bounteous rain: no more Is the Magian wine in Persias taverns sold. My comrades thought my song were of Springs kindling How should they know what in Loves notes is told? Out of my flesh and blood You made this earth; Its quenchless fever the martyrs crown of gold. My days supported by Your alms, I do not Complain against my friends, or the times scold.

Gabriels Wing 255 A war against it you must wage. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * The subtle point that life would not end with the death of the body I learnt from Abul Hasan1: The un, if it would hate its beam Will lose all its brilliance. [Translated by Muhammad Munawwar Mirza] The other rules with sword and spear. Some have left the caravan train, And some on Kabah turn their back; For leaders of the Faithful Band, Winsome mode and manners lack. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * This reason of mine knows not good from evil; And tries to exceed the bounds that nature fixed; I know not what has happened to me of late, My reason and my heart are ever at war. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

13
Mine ill luck the same and same, O Lord, the coldness on Your part: No useful aim has been served, By skill in poetic art. Where am I and where are You, Is the world a fact or naught? Does this world to me belong, Or is a wonder by You wrought? The precious moments of my life, One by one have been snatched: But still the conflict racks my brain, If heart and head are ever matched. A hawk forgetful of its breed, Upbrought and fed in midst of kites, Knows not the wont and ways of hawks, And cannot soar to mighty heights. For song no tongue is set apart, No claim to tongues is laid by me: What matters is a dainty song, No matter what its language be. Faqr and Kingship are akin, Though at odds may these appear: One wins the heart with single glance,

14
Methought my racing field lay under the skies, This plaything of water and clay, I regarded as my world; Thy unveiling broke the spell of searching glances, I mistook this blue vault for Heaven. The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, methought, would keep me company, Fatigued, they dropped out in the twists and turns of space: One leap by Love ended all the pother, I fondly imagined, the earth and sky were boundless. What I esteemed as the clarion call of the caravan, Was but the plaintive cry of a traveller, weary and forlorn. [Translated by S.A. Rahman2]

Abul Hasan Ashari.

Quoted in Chughtai and Iqbal by Arif Rahman

256 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal * To be God is to have charge of land and sea; Being God is nothing but a headache! But being a servant of God? God forbid! That is no headacheit is a heartache! [Translated by Mustansir Mir] [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * This Adamis he the sovereign of land and sea? What can I say about such an incompetent being! He is not able to see anythinghimself, God, or the world! Is this the masterpiece of Your art? [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

15
Reason is either luminous, or it seeks proofs; Proofseeking reason is but an excess of wonder. Thine alone is what I possess in this handful of dust; And to keep it safe is beyond my power, O Lord! My songs of lament were all inspired by Thee; If they have reached the stars, it is no fault of mine. Art Thou pleased, O Lord, with mans imperfection? Why repeat a flawed attempt, and make his shame eternal? The Western ways have tried to make me a renegade; But why are our mullahs a disgrace to Muslims? Fools think man is a bondman of destiny; But man has still the power to break the bonds of fate. Thou hast Thy pantheon, and I have mine, O Lord! Both have idols of dust; both have idols that die.

16
Lovely, oh Lord, this fleeting world; but why Must the frank heart, the quick brain, droop and sigh? Though usury mingle somewhat with his godship, The white man is the worlds archdeity; His asses graze in fields of rose and poppy: One wisp of hay to genius You deny; His Church abounds with roasts and ruby wines: Sermons and saws are all Your mosques supply. Your laws are just, but their expositors Bedevil the Koran, twist it awry; Your paradise noone has seen: in Europe No village but with paradise can view. Long, long have my thoughts wandered about heaven; Now in the moons blind caverns let them sty! I, dowered by Nature with empyreal essence,

Chughtai in Iqbal: Commemorative Volume edited by Ali Sardar Jafri and K.S. Duggal

Gabriels Wing 257 Am dustbut not through dust does my way lie; Nor East, nor west my home, nor Samarkand, Nor Ispahan nor Delhi; in ecstasy, Godfilled, I roam, speaking what truth I see No fool for priests, nor yet of this ages fry. My folk berate me, the stranger does not love me: Hemlock for sherbet I could never cry; How could a weigher of truth see Mount Damawand And think a common refuseheap as high? In Nimrods fire faiths silent witness, not Like mustardseed in the grate, burned splutteringly Blood warm, gaze keen, rightfollowing, wrongforswearing, In fetters free, prosperous in penury, In fair of foul untamed and light of heart Who can steal laughter from a flowers bright eye? Will no one hush this too proud thing Iqbal Whose tongue Gods presencechamber could not tie! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] commemoration of the event, in imitation of a famous panegyric by the poetWe are coming after Sinai and Attar. All Natures vastness cannot contain you, oh My madness: vain, those wanderings to and fro In deserts! By selfhood only are the spells Of sense broken, that power we did not know. Rub your eyes, sluggard! Light is Natures law, And not unknown to Ocean its waves flow. Where reason and revelation war, faith errs To think the Mystic on his cross its foe, For Gods pure souls, in thralldom or on thrones, Have one safe shield, his scorn of this worlds show. But do not, Gabriel, envy my rapture: better For Heavens dounce folk the prayer and the beads neat row! * I have seen many a wineshop East and West; But here no Saki, there in the grape no glow. In Iran no more, in Tartary no more, Those worldrenouncers who could overthrow Great kings; the Prophets heir filches and sells The blankets of the Prophets kin. When to The Lord I was denounced for crying Doomsday

11
In November, 1933, His Majesty the Leader of the Faithful the nowmartyred Nadir Shah Ghazi granted the author permission to visit the shrine of The sage Sanai of Ghazna. These verses were written in

The numbering of poems in Gabriels Wing starts

in the previous section, the addressee here will be the humanity.

again after 16. The only plausible explanation is that it marks a new sectionwhile God was addressed

258 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Too soon, by that Archangel who must blow Its trumpet, God made answerIs Doomsday far When Makkah sleeps while China worships? Though The bowl of faith finds none to pour, the beaker Of modern thought brims with the wine of No. Subdued by the dexterous fiddlers chords there murmurs In the lowest string the wail of Europes woe Her waters that have bred the shark now breed The stormwave that will smash its den below! Slaveryexile from the love of beauty: Beautywhatever free men reckon so; Trust no slaves eyes, clear sight and liberty Go hand in hand. His own resolves bestow The empire of Today on him who fishes Tomorrows pearl up from Times undertow. The Frankish glassblowers arts can make stone run: My alchemy makes glass flinthard. Pharaoh Plotted and plots against me; but what harm? Heaven lifts my hand, like Moses, white as snow; Earths rubbishheaps can never quell this spark God struck to light whole deserts, His flambeau! Love, selfbeholding, selfsustaining, stands Unawed at the gates of Caesar or Khosro; If moon or Pleiades fall my prey, what wonder Myself bound fast to the Prophets saddlebow! HeGuide, Last Envoy, Lord of Alllent brightness Of Sinai to our dust; Loves eyes, not slow To kindle, hail him Alpha and Omega, Chapter, and Word, and Book. I would not go Pearldiving there, for reverence of Sinai; But in these tides a million pearls still grow. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

2
Who is this composer of ghazals, who is burningly passionate and cheerful? He makes the thoughts of the wise full of madness. Although poverty also has royal characteristics, Kingship is only half complete without a kingdom. Now in the cell of the Sufi, the same poverty has not remained The poverty whose charter is written in the blood of the hearts of lions. Ah circle of dervishes, see how the man of God is, In whose collar is the tumult of Judgements Day who is as bright as a flame by the heat of repetition of Gods name; Who is quicker than the lightning by the swiftness of his thought. Kingship gives rise to signs of madness They are the scalpels of Allah, be they Taimur of Genghis.

Gabriels Wing 259 Thus Iraq and Persia give me praise for my verse: This Indian infidels sheds blood without swords or spears.1 [Translated by D.J. Matthews] Eer doth a voice repeat. The West hath cast a spell On thine heart and mind: In Rumis burning flame A cure for thyself find. Through his bounty great My vision shines and glows, And mighty Oxus too In my pitcher flows. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

3
The breath of Gabriel If God on me bestow, I may in words express What Love has made me know. How can the stars foretell What future holds in store? They roam perplexd and mean In skies that have no shore. To fix ones mind and gaze On goal is life, in fact: To egos death to lead The thoughts that mind distract. How strange! The bliss of self Having bestowed on me, God mighty will that I Beside myself should be. I neither like nor claim Platos thought or Croesus gold: Clean conscience, lofty gaze And zeal is all I hold. By Holy Prophets Ascent This truth to me was taught, Within the reach of man High heavens can be brought. The Life perhaps is still Raw and incomplete: Be and it becomes
1

4
Fabric of earth and wind and wave! Who is the secret, you or I, Brought into light? Or who the dark world of what hides yet, you or I? Here in this night of grief and pain, trouble and toil, that men call life, Who is the dawn, or who dawns prayer cried from the minaret, you or I? Who is the load that Time and Space bear on their shoulder? Who the prize Run for with fiery feet by swift daybreak and sunset, you or I? You are a pinch of dust and blind, I am a pinch of dust that feels; Through the dry land, Existence, who flows like a streamlet, you or I? [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

5
(Written in London) Thou art yet regionbound,

We have slightly altered Matthews translated line

to bring it closer to the original.

260 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Transcend the limits of space; Transcend the narrow climes Of the East and the West. For selfless deeds of men Rewards are less mundane; Transcend the houris glances, The pure, celestial wine. Ravishing in its power Is beauty in the West; Thou bird of paradise, Resist this earthly trap. With a mountaincleaving assault, Bridging the East and West, Despise all defences, And become a sheathless sword. Thy imam is unabsorbed, Thy prayer is uninspired, Forsake an imam like him, Forsake a prayer like this. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] You have no ailment, but Your zeal is faint and weak. The soul that knows no stain Is something quite discreet: The glow and tint of blood Is wrought by bread and meat. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

7
Hill and vale once more under the poppys lamps are bright, In my heart the nightingale has set new songs alight; Violet, violet, azure, azure, golden, golden, mantles Flowers, or fairies of the desert, rank on rank in sight? On the rosyspray dawns soft breeze has left a pearl of dew, Now the sunbeam turns this gem a yet more glittering white. Town or woodland, which is sweeter, if for her unveiling Careless beauty love towns less than where green woods invite? Delve into your soul and there seek our lifes buried tracks; Will you not be mine? then be not mine, be your own right! World of soulthe world of fire and ecstasy and longing: World of sensethe world of gain that fraud and cunning blight; Treasure of the soul once won is never lost again: Treasure gold, a shadowwealth soon comes and soon takes flight.

6
The free by dint of faqr Lifes secrets can disclose: With Gabriel faqr is bound By ties of kinship close. The scholar, mystic and The bard, by thinking wrong, Many a bark have sunk, That was sound and strong. You need a burning glance That cows down lions bold: Only the sheep and goats Heave sighs deep and cold. Loves physician scanned my face And thus he did bespeak,

Gabriels Wing 261 In the spirits world I have not seen a white mans Raj, In that world I have not seen Hindu and Muslim fight. Shame and shame that hermits saying pouted on meyou forfeit Body and soul alike if once you cringe to anothers might! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

9
Through Love the song of Life Begets its rhythmic flow: From Love the shapes of clay Derive an endless glow. Love makes its way to all The pores in human flesh, Like dewy wind of morn That makes the rose twig fresh.

8
(Written in Kabul) Muslims are born with a gift to charm, to persuade; Brave menthey are endowed with a noble courtesy. Slaves of custom are all the schools of old; They teach the eaglet to grovel in the dust. These victims of the past have seen the dawn of hope, When I revealed to them the eagles ways. The man of God knows but two words of faith; The scholar has tomes of knowledge old and new. About wine and women I know not how to write; Ask not a stonebreaker to work on glass. O Iqbal! From where did you learn to be such a dervish:1 Even among the kings there is talk about your contentment! [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

If man denies his God, On kings he has to fawn: By trust in God, the kings To his door are drawn. Free heart lends kingly state, To belly death is due: Decide which of the two Is better in your view. O Muslim, search your heart, Of mullah dont ask it, The sacred House of God, The righteous why have quit?

10
Of passions glow your heart is blank, Your glances are not chaste and frank: To wonder at then there is naught That bold and dauntless you are not. A longing strong for Gods display, Is also hid in selfsame clay: O heedless man, let this be known, Brains alone you do not own. The eye whose light and luster rest On collyrium brought from West:

The last two lines, O Iqbal! your contentment!

have been provided by the editors, since the translator had left them out.

262 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Is full of art, conceit and show, It gets not wet at others woe. How can the priest and monk assess The height of craze that I possess? still sound the hems of robes they wear, Which have no rifts and know no tear. How long the stars shall hold their sway On fate of man, sprung from clay? Either bereft of life I drop, Or the Wheel of Fate must stop. As good as Muslims true belief, Lightning I am and keep my eye On waste and hill that reach the sky: Heaps of straw and mounds of dust, Too low they are, avoid I must. That godly man gets worlds bequest, Who risks his life in ceaseless quest: That man no Faith can claim at all Who lives not up to Prophets call. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] If blessed with Love, unfaith is eke: Bereft of Love a Muslim true Is no better than Zindiq. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] To feel ashamed and do the right! Man is bound still hand and foot In chains by this talisman old, For idols of the age of past Still men within their armpits hold. Enough for me that I affirm With tongue alone my faith and creed: A thousand thanks for mullahs claim That he with heart avows, indeed.

12
Rely on the witness of the phenomenal world To know whether you are on the mark or have gone astray: Neither kingship nor poverty for a Muslim who lacks in faith, The one who has it is a king even if he be poor. He depends on the sword if he lacks in faith: If he has faith he may need no weapons in the fight. A Muslim without faith yields to what his fate ordains; With faith, he is destiny incarnate. I revealed the secrets and rent the veil, But your blindness has no cure. [Translated by the Editors]

11
A host of peril though you face, Yet your tongue with heart ally: From times antique and hoar Qalandars on this mode rely. Men congregate in numbers large In the mart where wine is sold, For polite and courteous seems The Head of Mart, the Magian Old. Though the points by Razi touched May be subtle and profound, Yet against infirm belief No cure in them is ever found. The disciple blind shed copious tears, Of sinful life he felt contrite. May God aid the shaykh as well

13
(Written in Cordoba) These Western nymphs

Gabriels Wing 263 A challenge to the eye and the heart, Are bold of glance, In a paradise of instant bliss. Thy heart is a wavering ship, Tossed by beautys assault These moons and stars that glisten, Are whirlpools in thy sea. The warblings of the harp and lyre, Have wondrous powers Powers that cannot be captured In the world of sound. By teaching him the monastic wont and way, The Sufi has led astray the jurist of the town. 1 The prostration that once Shook the earths soul, Now leaves not a trace On the mosques decadent walls. I have not heard in the Arab world The thunderous call The call to prayer that pierced The hearts of hills in the past. O Cordoba! Perhaps Some magic in thy air Has breathed into my song The buoyancy of youth. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Beget a heart alive and sound, For, if it be in slumber bound, You cannot strike a deadly blow, Nor even I can daring show. If sense of smell be full and stunted, The muskdeer never can be hunted: If bereft of sense of smelling true, Surmise and guess can yield no clue. My sighs no more I can withhold, When Muslims sloth I do behold: If Muslims do not mend their way, Magians their luck might steal away. These simple thralls of Yours, O Lord, From every house and door are barred: For kings, no less the acolytes, Are fraudulent and hypocrites. The freedom that this age does grant Does ever freedoms essence want: Though freedom seems to outward sight, Yet is no less than prison tight. O Lord of Yathrib! Cure provide For doubts that in my breast abide: My wisdom to the West is due, Girdled my faith like Brahman true. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

15
in the coquetry and fierceness of the self there is no pride, there are no airs. Even if there are airs, then they are not without the pleasure of submission.

14
A heart awake to man imparts Umars brains and Hyders manly parts: If watchful heart a man may hold, His dross is changed to sterling gold.

The two lines, By teaching himthe jurist of the

town, have been provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

264 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal The eye of love is in search of the living heart; hunting for carrion does not befit up to the royal hawk. In my song there is no charming and romantic grace, for the blast of the trumpet of Israfil is not meant to please the heart. I will not ask for wine from the Frank, saki, for this is not the way of the purehearted profligates. The rule of love has never been widespread in the world. The reason is thisthat love is no timeserver. One continual anxietywhether absent or present! If I tell it myself, my story is not long. If you desire then read the Persian Psalms1 in seclusion; the midnight lament is not bereft of secrets. [Translated by D.J. Matthews] I gleaned in Rumis company: one bold heart Is worth of learned heads the whole tame pack; Once more that voice from Sinais tree would cry Fear not! if some new Moses led the attack. No glitter of Western science could dazzle my eyes The dust of Medina stains, like collyrium, black. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

17
(Written in Europe) At London, winter wind, like sword, was biting though, My wont to rise at early morn I didnt forego. At times my heated talk to gathering pleasure lent; My holding loof at times perplexed them all, I trow. No hope for change is there, if workers rule the land, For those who hew the rocks, like Parvez tricks do know. Statecraft divorced from Faith to reign of terror leads, Though it be a monarchs rule or Commoners Show. The streets of Rome remind of Delhis glorious past, The lesson same and charm are writ upon its brow.

16
A recreant captain, a battleline thrown back, The arrow hanging targetless and slack! Nowhere near you that shell which holds lifes pearl; I have dragged the waves and searched the oceans track. Plunge in your self, on idols dote no more, Pour our no more hearts blood for paint to deck Their shrines. I unveil the courts of Love and Death: Deathlife dishonoured; Lovedeath for honours sake.

We have changed the translators Psalms of

Persia to the more widely known title of the book.

Gabriels Wing 265

18
The ancient fane in which we live Has heaps of thorns at every turn; Too hard to cross it safe and sound Without the aid of sighs that burn. The tale of quarry shot by Love Is simple, brief and not too long: The victim feels the joy of prick And then the rest of saddle thong. The sterling truth to Muslim taught, In feuds of different sects is lost; How can you catch this truth again, With bias if your mind be fraught? One is the outward form of faith, The other its spirit deep and true: He, who quaffs its spirits deep, Brings secrets hidden to his view. O pilgrim wise, who tread the [ath, If passion strong for faith you lack, The bough of faith shall whither fast, Obscure and dim become the path. Courage and valour are the signs By which the state of Love is known: Not every zeal is pert and rude, Nor daring by evry person shown. On the Day of Judgement too My frenzy will not let me rest: With Mighty God I shall contend Or rend to fragments my own vest. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

To starve oneself to death. O cultists! I like not Your austere piety; Your piety is penury, Suffering and grief. A nation that has lost Taimurs great heritage, Is unfit for piety, And is unfit to rule. If the sweet cupbearer Listens not to me, it is good; When I say, no more, That will only bring me more. The Sufi and his peers Are all engrossed in a glimpse; They know not that concealment Is itself a vision. Bondage is freedom With favours from on high, And when favours are withheld, Even freedom is bondage. The West is a treasurehouse For the reasons quest; But for the heart it is A source of decay and death. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

20
Though reason to the portal guide, Yet entry to it is denied. Beg God to grant a lighted heart, For light and sight are things apart. Though knowledge lends to mind a glow, No houris its Eden can ever show.

19
The way to renounce is To conquer the earth and heaven; The way to renounce is not

266 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal How strange that in the present time No one owns the joy sublime! Some passions leave the mind intact, While others make it blind to fact. The heart from unrest gets its life, What pity if it knows no strife! You die because from God you flee, If living, linked with God shall be. The pearls have all their covering cleft, Of urge to show you are bereft. Show unto me, though I too cry, It is not tale of Moses and Sinai. But, alas! You lack as yet Glances bold and zeal profound. My craze has judged aright the bent Of times wherein I am born: Love be thanked for granting me The gown entire and untorn. Spite of Natures bounty great, Its guarding practice, mark! It grants the ruby reddish hue, But denies the heat of spark. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

22
The morning breeze has whispered to me a secret, That those who know their selfhood, are equal to kings. Selfhood is the essence of thy life and honour, Thou shalt rule with it, but without it be in disgrace. Thou hast not led my way, O man of wisdom! But why, complain? Thou knowest not the way. Fakirs who know the wont and way of kings Are as yet being trained in my literary circle.1 Thy monastic cult is a strait and narrow path, Which I like not, but thy freedom I respect. This world of inferior prey is meant to sharpen thy claws, Thou art an eaglehunter, but art a novice yet.

21
The self of man is ocean vast, And knows no depth or bound: If you take it for a stream, How can your mind be sound? The magic of this whirling dome We can set at naught: Not of stone but of glass Its building has been wrought. In Holy Trance in self we drown, And up we rise again; But how a worthless man can show So much might and main? Your rank and state cannot be told By one who reads the stars: You are living dust, in sooth, Not ruled by Moon or Mars. The maids of Edn and Gabriel eke In this world can be found,

Two lines, Fakirs who knowmy literary circle,

have been provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

Gabriels Wing 267 Whether thou art in the East or West, thy faith Is meaningless, unless thy heart affirms it. Is far and out of view: What else can be this life But zeal for endless strife? Much worth the pearl begets, For guard on self it sets: What else in pearl is found Except its sheen profound? Though blood in veins may race, To Life it lends no grace: Only the glow of heart To Life can zeal impart. Wherefore, O Tulip Bride, Absorb thyself in selfhood, seek the path of God, This is the only way for thee to find freedom. Ask an unclad dervish what the heart doth say, May God show thee thy place in the world of men. If bareheaded, have a towering will, The crown is not for thee, but for the eagle alone. When thou losest selfhood, thou losest power, too; Blame not the stars and fate for thy fall. Monasteries and schools left me sad and dejected, No life and no love; no vision and no knowledge. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Though indigent I be, I am of hand yet free: What can the Flame bestow Except its spark and glow? From me your charms you hide? I am the breath of morn, Your face I would adorn. What Frankish dealers take For counterfeit and fake, Is true and real art Not valued in their Mart.

23
Thy vision and thy hands are chained, earthbound, Is it thy natures fault, or of the thought too high? The schoolmen have strangled thy nascent soul, And stifled the voice of passionate faith in thee.

25
The splendour of a monarch great Is worthless for the free and bold: Where lies the grandeur of a king, Whose riches rest on borrowed gold? You pin your faith on idols vain And turn your back on Mighty God: If this is not unbelief and sin, What else is unbelief and fraud? Luck favours the fool and the mean, And exalts and lifts to the skies Only those who are base and low And know not how to patronize.

24
The mind can give you naught, But what with doubt is fraught: One look of Saintly Guide Can needful cure provide. The goal that you presume

268 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal One look from the eyes of the Fair Can make a conquest of the heart: There is no charm in the fair sweet, If it lacks this alluring art. I am a target for the hate Of the mighty rich and the great, As I know the end of Caesars great And know the freaks of luck or fate. To be a person great and strong Is the end and aim of all; But that rank is not real and true That is attained by the egos fall. My bold and simple mode of life Has captured each and every heart; Though my numbers are lame and dull And lay no claim to poets art. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] Have long been awaiting a guide to show them the way now. High ambition, winsome speech, a passionate soul This is all the luggage for a leader of the Caravan. It was a plain and simple truth but the imagination of the Persian mind Has confounded it with the poetic license. I am saving a song for the Placeless Realm A song that could shake even the trusty Gabriel.

27
O Prisoner of Space! You are not far from the Placeless Realm That Audience Hall is not far away from your planet. Grieve not, for a meadow that faces no threat from the Autumn, Is not far away from your nest. The gist of all Gnostic knowledge is merely this: That life is an arrow spent and yet from the bow it is not too far! Your station lies a little ahead of all the stars and Pleiades: Move on, for it is not a long way from the skies. Lest he asks the guide to let him be! It would be no surprise from a traveller who thinks too much. [Translated by the Editors]

26
You are neither for the earth nor for the heaven: The world is for you, and not you for the world. The sparks Reason and Heart are shed of the flame of Love: That one to burn the straw, this one for burning the field of reeds. This garden is for painful strains: Neither for enjoying the roses nor for making a nest. How long, while your ship remains in Ravi, Nile and Euphrates? When it is meant for the Ocean, which knows no bounds. Once who were beacons to the brightest stars,

28
(Written in Europe) My mind on me bestowed a thinkers gaze,

Gabriels Wing 269 From Love I learnt a topers wont and ways. No wine, no flask, no goblet goes around, Sweet looks to banquet lend its hue and sound. Take not my rhymes for poets art, I know the secrets of winesellers mart. Behold the bud athirst for breath of Morn, It tells the story of my heart forlorn. Know not, absence or presence if it be, I am the alien here, all others free. My stay in West I may prolong a bit, My frenzy if this desert will admit. Little of change loves fortunes inherit: born in anguish And fire, in fire and anguish its end it buys at last. The stage of mind by Iqbal soon was crost, But in the Vale of Love this sage was lost. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

29
From the heavens comes an answer to our long cries at last: The heavens break their silence, the curtains rise at last!

270 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal

Your glances bold would strike the heart With awe, though sheathed within the breast: Alas! a qalandars fervent zeal In you is dead and is at rest. Of Sanctuarys secret hid Iqbal perhaps is well aware:

His speech and song display alike A confidential mode and air. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

33
What should I ask the sages about my origin: I am always wanting to know my goal.

Gabriels Wing 271 Develop the self so that before every decree God will ascertain from you: What is your wish? It is nothing to talk about if I transform base selves into gold: The passion of my voice is the only alchemy I know! O Comrade, I beheld the secrets of Destiny in them What should I tell you of those lustrous eyes! Only if that majzub1 of the West were living in these times, Iqbal could have explained to him the I am. My heart bleeds from the song of the early morning: O Lord! What is the sin for which this is a punishment? [Translated by the Editors]2 Though amiss this pilgrim be, Yet can burn on fire like rue. O Bird, that yearn to merge with God,2 You must keep this truth in sight, To suffer death is nobler far Than bread that clogs your upward flight. A person poor and destitute, Who walks in steps of Gods Lion bold, Is more exaltd than monarchs great: He spurns the worldly wealth and gold. Men bold and firm uphold the truth And let no fears assail their hearts: No doubt, the mighty Lions of God Know no tricks and know no arts.

35
Once more I feel the urge to wail And weep at dead of night: O traveller, stop a bit, perchance I face some awful site. Awhile in dark abyss of Fate Dive and see beneath: Out of this battlefield I come Like sword out of the sheath. This verse some man with witty mind On niche of mosque did write: These fools fell prostrate on the earth, When it was time to fight. O man, who at my misery scoff,

34
When through the Love man conscious grows Of respect selfawareness needs, Though in chains, he learns at once The regal mode and kingly deeds. Like Rumi, Attar, Ghazzali and Razi, One may be mystic great or wise, But none can reach his goal and aim Without the help of morning sighs. No need for leaders sage and great To lose all hope of Muslim true:

Follow the road you tread: When the cup to me was passed,
Iqbal, included in Iqbal: the Poet of Tomorrow, edited by Khawaja Adbur Rahim.
2

Iqbals noteNietzsche, the famous selfabsorbed

German philosopher who could not interpret his inner experience correctly and was therefore misled by his philosophical thoughts.
2

The first four lines Translator has made a gross error: Iqbals phrase simply means the bird who flies to the Throne of God.

are based on a partial translation by Annemarie Schimmel in The Ideal of Prayer in the Thought of

272 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal The gathering all had fled. Iqbal his glow to Muslims lent, Who in India dwell: An easygoing man he was And served the sluggards well. To find Iqbal for years on end I did chafe and fret: By effort great that kingly hawk Has come within my net. Miscarry the destined stroke: This fact with truth is fraught, No fiction of my thought.

37
Nature before your mind present, Subdue this world of hue and scent. Of selfhood you appear bereft, To find the thing lost go on quest. The stars do shine in boundless space, Desire to get this lofty place. Disrobed the houris of your mead, The rose and tulip darning need. Of urge, though Nature not deplete, Yet where it fails you must complete.

36
Devoid of passions roar I can exist no more: What else can be this life But passion strong and strife? My essence endlessly Impels my minstrelsy: Some may in throng be still, Who feels for others ill. Loves flame can still set fire To lodge and goods entire: If thirst be not aflame, Wherefore the saki blame? Your judgment of the West On glamour must not rest: Its essence seems so bright By means of electric light. The thoughts of world conquest Can never shape in breast, If blessed not be your gaze With worldwide wont and ways. I, even in winter drear, Fell not in hunters snare: My nests branches bare Drew the hunters stare. Their plans shall end in smoke,

38
Alas! The mullah and the priest, Conduct their sermons so That despite their efforts great, The hearts of listeners fail to glow. O fellow stupid, get firm belief, For faith upon you can bestow Dervishhood of such lofty brand Fore which the mighty monarchs bow. Disunions ache that I do feel A thousand hues and garbs can don: To rapture and surprise converts, Anon to sighs of early morn. Secrets of love and passion strong Transcend the ken of earthy breed: This much alone I learnt that death Of heart disunion means indeed. The Fair with His own Beauty drunk Is impelled to cast the Veil aside: The reasons of His remaining hid

Gabriels Wing 273 Within my own dim sight abide. The rules that govern the Turn of Fate No one can ever understand, Else the heirs to Tamerlane Were brave like those of Turkish Land. How have the beggars of the Shrine Brought Iqbal within their fold, Though monarchs great and princes strong A falcon white cant get in hold? This vast space does not lack life Hundreds of other caravans are here. Do not be content with the world of colour and Smell, Other gardens there are, other nests, too. What is the worry if one nest is lost? There are other places to sigh and cry for! You are an eagle, flight is your vocation: You have other skies stretching out before you. Do not let mere day and night ensnare you, Other times and places belong to you. Gone are the days when I was alone in company Many here are my confidants now. [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

39
The magic old to life is brought By means of present science and thought: The path of life cannot be trod Without the aid of Moses Rod. The mind is skilful in artful tasks, And can assume a hundred masks: Poor helpless Love that knows no guise Aint mullah, hermit or too wise. Forbid the rest of lodge and bed To those who road of Love do tread: Like travellers they always roam, Though they seem to stay at home. Concern for journeys food and steed, Like burden great, retards your speed: Of this dead weight, if one be free, Like breeze can cross the mount and sea. No wealth is owned by dervish free, At call of death he yields with glee: He has not either gold or land, Of him no one can tithe demand. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

41
(Written in France) The West seeks to make life a perpetual feast; A wish in vain, in vain, in vain! Aware of my state, my spiritual guide assures me, Thy ecstasy has reached the plenitude of its power. Moses asked for a Divine glimpse, but I do not: The demand was right for him; but is forbidden for me. The plaint of the men of God betrays a suppressed secret; But the ways of the men of God are not meant for all. Zikr in the Sufis circle was devoid of ecstasy, I remained unsatisfied, and so was everyone.

40
Other worlds exist beyond the stars More tests of love are still to come.

274 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Love is thy goal, and mine, too, but both Are so far novices on the path of love. Alas! Thou hast betrayed the secret of a fakir, Though a fakir has wealth more than a king of men. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Ends with Husain, the martyr true.

43
The schools bestow no grace of fancy fine, Cloisters impart no glow of Love Divine. The goal that Travellers seek is far and wide, Alas! There is no chief to lead and guide. No less than Khyber, the war of faith and land, But warrior like Ali is not at hand. Beyond the bounds of science for faithful thrall Is bliss of love and sight of God withal. The chief of tavern thinks that West has raised The house on shaking founds, whose walls are glazed. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

42
If self with knowledge strong becomes, Gabriel it can envious make: If fortified with passion great, Like trump of Israfil can shake. The scourge of present science and thought, To me, no doubt, is fully known, Like Abraham, the Friend of God, In its flame I have been thrown. The caravan in quest of goal By charm of lodge is led astray, Though never can the ease of lodge Be same as joy to be on way.

44
Events as yet folded in the scroll of Time Reflect in the mirror of my perception. Neither the planets, nor the spinning skies Only my bold songcan tell you your destiny. Either my sighs are devoid of fire, Or else your straw and thorns as yet retain some sap; Yet perchance my morning song May quicken the fire that your dust contains The dust that will break the spell of the passing time one day, Though it is entangled in the skein of Fate as yet. [Translated by the Editors]

If seeing eye you do not own, Among my listeners do not pause, For subtle points about the self, Like sword, deep yawning wounds can cause. Still to mind I can recall, In Europe what I learnt by heart: But can the veil of Reason match With joy that Presence can import. From caravan you are adrift, And night has donned a mantle black: For you my song that burns as flame, Like a torch, can light the track. The tale of the Holy Shrine, if told, Is simple, strange and red in hue: With Ismail the tale begins

Gabriels Wing 275

45
To Lovers glowing fire and flame The mystic order has no claim: They dont discourse or talk of aught Save wonders by their elders wrought. Alas! The throne as well as the mat, Alike are full of guile and craft: Both royal hall and Holy Shrine Have lost their essence fine. The scrolls of Sufis and mullah may Put them to shame on Judgment Day Before the Throne of Judge Supreme For being empty in extreme. How can this world or next contain The man not bound to one domain? The East or West is not his home, Not tied to Syrian Land or Rome. Intoxication due to nightly wine, No doubt, by now, is one decline, But sakis glance still pricks the heart, Like a swift and piercing dart. My bitter notes with patience hark, That I utter in this park: Bear it in mind that passion too Oft can work like elixir true. More dear and precious song replete With lightnings dazzling flash and heat Than coffers full of yellow gold That mighty kings and chiefs do hold. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

Intuition in the West was clever in its power, But had not the plenitude for absolute abandon. The quintessence of life is the force of faith supreme It is a force denied to all our seats of learning. The galaxies, the planets, the firmament, are all Waiting for mans rise, like a star in heaven. Brains are bright and hearts are dark and eyes are bold, Is this the sum and substance of what our age has gained? The world is a haystack for the fire of the Muslim soul, But if thou art eyeless, thou canst not find thy way. To a multitude of men, reason is the guide, They know not that frenzy has a wisdom of its own. The world entire is a legacy of the Man of Faith:1 I say it on the authority of We would not have created it. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

47
O manly heart, the goal you seek Is hard to gain like gem unique: Get firm resolve and freedom true, If aim of life you wish to woo. Like Sanjar great and Tughral just To rule and conquer learn you must: Or like a qalandar true and bold

46

Two lines, The world entirewould not have

created it, have been provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

276 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal The wont and way of monarch hold. Farabis thirst for lore beget, Or Rumis fever great and fret: You need a thinkers lofty gaze, Or Moses passion to amaze. Learn the wolfish tricks and guile, Be like Franks in wit and wile: Else own the passion of Gods Hand, Or strike the foes like Tartar band. Act on Muslim law and rites, Or sit in fane like acolytes: Be it the Shrine or temple high, Ever like a drunkard cry. In whatsoever state you be, A fettered thrall or monarch free: No wonder ever can be wrought, With Love, if courage be not fraught. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] That Europe lies on course of flood Gainst which no one can stand. A world there is quite fresh and new In sighs at morn I have: Your portion seek within its tracts, Thus goal and aim achieve. Count my gourd an immense gain, For pure and sparkling wine No more the seats of learning store Nor sells the Sacred Shrine.

49
On me no subtle brain though Nature spent, My dust hides strength to dare the high ascent That frantic dust whose eye outranges reason, Dust by whose madness Gabriels rose is rent; That will not creep about its garden gathering Straw for a nestunhoused and yet content. And Allah to this dust a gift of tears Whose brightness shames the constellations, lent.

48
A monarchs pomp and mighty arms Can never give such glee, As can be felt in presence of A qalandar bold and free. The world is like an idol house, Gods Friend, a person free: No doubt, this subtle point is hid In words, No god but He. The world that you with effort make To you belongs alone: The world of brick and stone you see, You cannot call your own. The claymade man is still among The vagrants on the road, Though man beyond the moon and stars Can find his true abode. This news I have received from those Who rule the sea and land,

50
By men whose eyes see far and wide new cities shall be founded: Not by old Kufa or Baghdad is my thoughts vision bounded. Rash youth, newfangled learning, giddy pleasure, gaudy plume, With these, while these still swarm, the Frankish wineshop is surrounded. Not with philosopher, nor with priest, my business; one lays waste

Gabriels Wing 277 The heart, and one sows discord to keep mind and soul confounded; And for the Phariseefar from this poor worm be disrespect! But how to enfranchise Man, is all the problem I have sounded. The fleshpots of the wealthy are for sale about the world; Who bears loves toils and pangs earns wealth that Gods hand has compounded. I have laid bare such mysteries as the hermit learns, that thought, In cloister or in college, in true freedom may be grounded. No fastings of Mahatmas will destroy the Brahmins sway; Vainly, when Moses holds no rod, have all his words resounded! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] Over the tussle of heart and head Rumi has won and Rizi fled. Still bowl of Jamshid is alive, Without guile kingship cannot thrive. Both you and I arent Muslims true, Though we say the prayers due. I know the end of wrangle well Where mullahs at each other yell. Turkish and Arabic both are sweet, For talk of Love all tongues are meet. The breed of Azar idols make, But Friends of God these idols break. You are alive and live for aye The rest is all a play with clay. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]

53
Arise! The bugle calls! It is time to leave! Woe be to the traveller who still awaits! The confines of a monastery suit thee not

51
To God the angels did complain Gainst Iqbal and did say That rude and insolent is he, Nature he paints much gay. Though born of mud and water, yet A god assumes to be: Not bound to any home or land, Of earthly ties is free. To throngs of Heaven he has taught, Like man, to fret and pine. To claymade man he fain would teach The wont and mode divine.

The times have changed, thou seest, and so hast thou. Thorny is the path, O seeker of salvation! Whether thy heart is the slave or the master of reason. The selfhood of one who bemoans all change, Is yet a prisoner of time, shackled by days and nights. O songbird! Thy song is well rewarded when It infuses fire into the roses bloom. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

54
The Gnostic and the common throng New life have gained through my song:

52

278 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal I have conferred relish fine On them for Loves fiery wine. Some Ajami near the Holy Shrine Did sadly sing this song and pine, Alas! the robes by pilgrims worn To threads and pieces now are torn. The place of Husain, the Martyr great Is fact, not bound to Space or Date, Though the Syrians and the Kufis may Often change their wont and way. The gamblers who with you compete Are deft of band and they can cheat: Your fumbling shaky hands, I fear, May bring about your ruin so drear. No wonder If the Muslims gain Their ancient glory once again Sanjars splendour pomp and state, The piety and faqr of mystics great. The robe of art and lore I wear Is through Your special bounty there: You know my coarse and homely frame, To honour great I have no claim. The tulip red with heart afire In avenue could not thrive and spire, As this world of corn and wheat For tulip wild could not be meet. Great wars by Aibak and Ghauri fought By the world are all forgot; But the lays of Khusrau still Our hearts with joy and pleasure fill.

56
In the maze of eve and morn, O man awake, do not be lost: Another world there yet exists That has no future or the past. None knows that tumults worth and price Which hidden lies in futures womb: The mosque, the school and tavern too Since long are silent like a tomb. In tears shed at early morn Is found the gem unique and best, The gem, whose like is never held, By mother shell within its breast. The Culture New is nothing else Save glamour false and show, indeed: If the face be fair and bright, Rouge vendors aid it does not need. Much care and caution must he take, Who sets the music of a song: For oft the Voice Unseen inspires Such airs as jarring are and wrong.

55
Through many a stage the crescent goes And then at last full moon it grows: Perfection no one can attain, Save by dint of strife and strain. The bud that gets no share of light From the sun that shines so bright, And opens through its inner urge Is bereft of lifes full surge. If your gaze of sins be free, Then chaste and pure your heart shall be, For God the Mighty has decreed That heart shall follow and gaze shall lead.

57
The cloisters, once the rearing place Of daring men and royal breed, Alas! Now nothing else impart To foxy ways they pay much heed. The chiefs who lead the caravan train,

Gabriels Wing 279 Of that virtue quite are blank, Which is found in shepherds task And leads to Moses noble rank. How can the birds with voices sweet The thrilling joy of song attain? Alas! The birds in hostile mead Cannot their breath for long sustain. One type of rapture and surprise Is darkness deep and pitch complete; The other rapture and surprise With love and knowledge is replete. My thoughts sublime that soar aloft, Like the flash of lightning, show the way; Lest travellers in the dark of night Should miss the track and go astray. In short, it is the chief of chiefs And king of other kings withal. By means of learning mind and brain, No doubt, become refined and pure: Faqr makes the heart and gaze of man From earthly filth and dross secure. Scholar and sage knowledge makes, But Christ and Moses by faqr are wrought: To faqr the road is fully known, Of road the scholar knows not aught. The state of seeing faqr bestows, But knowledge makes on new rely: Rapture in faqr is virtue great, Whereas in knowledge sin so high. One God there is that knowledge owns To other God faqr lays a claim: No god but He, I do proclaim, No god but He, I do proclaim. On the whetting stone of faqr, When sword of Self gets sharp and bright, A single stroke by warrior bold Can out an army big to flight. Within your clay, if there exist A heart alive and wide awake, The glass of sun and moon as well One look of yours forthwith can break.

58
From Salman1, singer sweet, This subtle point I know: That world is wide enough For those who courage show. A man can live without The light of science and art; But needs hawks zeal for quest And tigers reckless heart. Desist from imitation Of peacock and nightingale: The one is only hue, The other chant and wail.

60
In my craze that knows no bound, Of the Mosque I made the round: Thank God that outer vest of Shrine Still was left untorn and fine. I wish good luck and pleasure great,

59
The crown, the throne, and mighty arms By faqr are wrought these wonders all:

Iqbals noteSalman [refers to] Masud Saad

Salman, the famous poet of the Ghaznavid era who was probably born in Lahore.

280 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal To all, of faith who always prate But all the jurists of the town With one accord upon me frown. Men, like Plato, still roam about Betwixt belief and utter doubt Men endowed with reason, aye, Ever on the heights do stay. Unless the Books each verse and part Be revealed unto your heart, Interpreters, though much profound, Its subtle points cannot expound The joy that Frankish wine does give Lasts not for long nor always live, Though scum at bottom of its bowl Is always pure and never foul. * O wave! Plunge headlong into the dark seas, And change thyself with many a twist and turn; Thou wast not born for the solace of the shore; Arise, untamed, and find a path for thyself. * Am I bound by space, or beyond space? A worldobserver or a world myself? Let Him remain happy in His Infinitude, But condescend to tell me where I am. * Confused is the nature of my love for Thee, And more confused is my song in Thy praise; For I sometimes do relish fulfillment, At other times, a yearning in my heart. * I was in the solitude of selfhood lost, And was, it seemed, unaware of the Presence; I lifted not my eyes to see my Friend, And, on the Day of Judgment, shamed myself. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * Faith, like Abraham, sits down in the fire; To have faith is to be drawn into God and to be oneself. Listen, you captive of modern civilization, To lack faith is worse than slavery! [Translated by Mustansir Mir] My torn apparel aught to be valued much, For madness has become rare these days! [Translated by the Editors]

61
Knowledge and reason work in manner strange, In case of Love gainst heart and sight they range. The end of Muslim folk I know full well, On theoretic points their preachers dwell. Though bird of mead hovers my lodge around, Yet has no share of my melodious sound. The Turks, I hear, between the lines can read, Who can this verse so odd convey with speed? You take the West for neighbour sweet and dear, Though Stars to land of yours are close and near. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * The rituals of the Sanctuary unsanctified! The Church commercialized.

Gabriels Wing 281 * Arabian fervour has within it the Persian melodies, The hidden purpose of the Sanctuary is to unify all nations. Western thought is bereft of the idea of Oneness, Because the Western civilization has no Kabah. [Translated by M. Munawwar Mirza]1 * A restless heart throbs in every atom; It has its abode, alone, in a multitude; Impaled upon the wheel of days and nights, It remains unchained by the tyranny of time. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * I wish someone saw how I play the flute The breath is Indian, the tune Arabian! My vision has a taint of the Western style; I am a Ghaznavi by temper, but my fate is that of an Ayaz! [Translated by Mustansir Mir] * Thy vision is not lofty, ethereal, Thou dost not have the flight of a faith inspired; Thou mayest be of an eagle breed, no doubt, Thou dost not have those bold, piercing eyes. * Neither the Muslim nor his power survives; The Sufi has outlived his radiant soul; Ask God for the heart and soul of men of the past, Become a fakir, first, to regain thy power. * Distracted are thy eyes in myriad ways; Distracted is thy reason in many pursuits; Forsake not, O heart, thy morning sighs! Chanting His name, thou mayest save thy soul. * Selfhood in the world of men is prophethood; Selfhood in solitude is godliness; The earth, the heavens, the great empyrean, Are all within the range of selfhoods power. * The beauty of mystic love is shaped in song; The majesty of mystic love is abandon; The peak of mystic love is Hyders power; The decline of mystic love is Razis word. * Where is the moving spirit of my life? The thunderbolt, the harvest of my life? His place is in the solitude of the heart, But I know not the place of the heart within. * Thy bosom has breath; it does not have a heart; Thy breath has not the warmth and fire of life; Renounce the path of reason; it is a light That brightens thy way; it is not thy Final goal. *

A few words have been altered for brevity.

282 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal I am not a pursuer, nor a traveller, I am not a goal, but a narrow track, I am not a harvest, but a thunderbolt, Born to set fire to straw, buried in the dust. * [Translated by Mustansir Mir] Pure in nature thou art, thy nature is light; Thou art the star in the firmament; Thou not an eagle of the King of Men, Thy preys are the nymphs and the angels bright. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * They no longer have that passionate love Muslims are drained of blood. The rows are uneven, the hearts adrift, the prostration joyless All this because the inner feeling is dead! [Translated by Mustansir Mir] * Dewdrops glisten on flowers that bloom in the spring; The breeze, the jasmine, and the rose have failed To raise the tumult of joy and liveliness, For flowers here lack the spark and fire of life. * Conquer the world with the power of selfhood, And solve the riddle of the universe; Be intimate with thy shores, like the sea, But avoid the surf around the boundless deep. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * Reason makes the traveller sharpsighted. What is reason? It is a lamp that lights up our path. The commotion raging inside the house What does the travellers lamp know of it!

A PRAYER
(Written in the Mosque of Cordoba) My invocations are sincere and true, They form my ablutions and prayers due. One glance of guide such joy and warmth can grant, On marge of stream can bloom the tulip plant. One has no comrade on Loves journey long Save fervent zeal, and passion great and strong. O God, at gates of rich I do not bow, You are my dwelling place and nesting bough. Your Love in my breast burns like Doomsday morn, The cry, He is God, on my lips is born. Your Love, makes me God, fret with pain and pine, You are the only quest and aim of mine. Without You town appears devoid of life, When present, same town appears astir with strife. For wine of gnosis I request and ask, To get some dregs I break the cup and glass. The mystics gourds and commons pitchers wait

Gabriels Wing 283 For liquor of your Grace and Bounty great. Against Your godhead I have a genuine plaint, For You the Spaceless, while for me restraint. Both verse and wisdom indicate the way Which longing face to face can not convey. [Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah] * The mystics soul is like the morning breeze: It freshens and renews lifes inner meaning; An illumined soul can be a shepherds, who Could hear the Voice of God at Gods command. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] What if I am found wanting. Death is your ultimate destiny. Death is my ultimate destiny. What else is the reality of your days and nights, Besides a surge in the river of time, Sans day, sans night. Frail and evanescent, all miracles of ingenuity, Transient, all temporal attainments; Ephemeral, all worldly accomplishments. Annihilation is the end of all beginnings. Annihilation is the end of all ends. Extinction, the fate of everything; Hidden or manifest, old or new. Yet in this very scenario Indelible is the stamp of permanence On the deeds of the good and godly. Deeds of the godly radiate with Love, The essence of life, Which death is forbidden to touch. Fast and free flows the tide of time, But Love itself is a tide that stems all tides. In the chronicle of Love there are times Other than the past, the present and the future; Times for which no names have yet been coined. Love is the breath of Gabriel. Love is the heart of Mustafa. Love is the messenger of God. Love is the Word of God. Love is ecstasy lends luster to earthly forms. Love is the heady wine, Love is the grand goblet. Love is the commander of marching troops.

THE MOSQUE OF CORDOBA

(Written in Spain, especially Cordoba) The succession of day and night Is the architect of events. The succession of day and night Is the fountainhead of life and death. The succession of day and night Is a twotone silken twine, With which the Divine Essence Prepares Its apparel of Attributes. The succession of day and night Is the reverberation of the symphony of Creation. Through its modulations, the Infinite demonstrates The parameters of possibilities. The succession of day and night Is the touchstone of the universe; Now sitting in judgement on you, Now setting a value on me. But what if you are found wanting.

284 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Love is a wayfarer with many a wayside abode. Love is the plectrum that brings Music to the string of life. Love is the light of life. Love is the fire of life. To Love, you owe your being, O, Harem of Cordoba, To Love, that is eternal; Never waning, never fading. Just the media these pigments, bricks and stones; This harp, these words and sounds, just the media. The miracle of art springs from the lifeblood of the artist! A droplet of the lifeblood Transforms a piece of dead rock into a living heart; An impressive sound, into a song of solicitude, A refrain of rapture or a melody of mirth. The aura you exude, illumines the heart. My plaint kindles the soul. You draw the hearts to the Presence Divine, I inspire them to bloom and blossom. No less exalted than the Exalted Throne, Is the throne of the heart, the human breast! Despite the limit of azure skies, Ordained for this handful of dust. Celestial beings, born of light, Do have the privilege of supplication, But unknown to them Are the verve and warmth of prostration. An Indian infidel, perchance, am I; But look at my fervour, my ardour. Blessings and peace upon the Prophet, sings my heart. Blessings and peace upon the Prophet, echo my lips. My song is the song of aspiration. My lute is the serenade of longing. Every fibre of my being Resonates with the refrains of Allah hoo! Your beauty, your majesty, Personify the graces of the man of faith. You are beautiful and majestic. He too is beautiful and majestic. Your foundations are lasting, Your columns countless, Like the profusion of palms In the plains of Syria. Your arches, your terraces, shimmer with the light That once flashed in the valley of Aiman Your soaring minaret, all aglow In the resplendence of Gabriels glory. The Muslim is destined to last As his Azan holds the key to the mysteries Of the perennial message of Abraham and Moses. His world knows no boundaries, His horizon, no frontiers. Tigris, Danube and Nile: Billows of his oceanic expanse. Fabulous, have been his times! Fascinating, the accounts of his achievements! He it was, who bade the final adieu To the outworn order. A cupbearer is he, With the purest wine for the connoisseur; A cavalier in the path of Love

Gabriels Wing 285 With a sword of the finest steel. A combatant, with la ilah As his coat of mail. Under the shadow of flashing scimitars, La ilah is his protection. Your edifice unravels The mystery of the faithful; The fire of his fervent days, The bliss of his tender nights. Your grandeur calls to mind The loftiness of his station, The sweep of his vision, His rapture, his ardour, his pride, his humility. The might of the man of faith Is the might of the Almighty: Dominant, creative, resourceful, consummate. He is terrestrial with celestial aspect; A being with the qualities of the Creator. His contented self has no demands On this world or the other. His desires are modest; his aims exalted; His manner charming; his ways winsome. Soft in social exposure, Tough in the line of pursuit. But whether in fray or in social gathering, Ever chaste at heart, ever clean in conduct. In the celestial order of the macrocosm, His immutable faith is the centre of the Divine Compass. All else: illusion, sorcery, fallacy. He is the journeys end for reason, He is the raison d etre of Love. An inspiration in the cosmic communion. O, Mecca of art lovers, You are the majesty of the true tenet. You have elevated Andalusia To the eminence of the holy Harem. Your equal in beauty, If any under the skies, Is the heart of the Muslim And no one else. Ah, those men of truth, Those proud cavaliers of Arabia; Endowed with a sublime character, Imbued with candour and conviction. Their reign gave the world an unfamiliar concept; That the authority of the brave and spirited Lay in modesty and simplicity, Rather than pomp and regality. Their sagacity guided the East and the West. In the dark ages of Europe, It was the light of their vision That lit up the tracks. A tribute to their blood it is, That the Andalusians, even today, Are effable and warmhearted, Ingenuous and bright of countenance. Even today in this land, Eyes like those of gazelles are a common sight. And darts shooting out of those eyes, Even today, are on target. Its breeze, even today, Is laden with the fragrance of Yemen. Its music, even today, Carries strains of melodies from Hijaz. Stars look upon your precincts as a piece of

286 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal heaven. But for centuries, alas! Your porticoes have not resonated With the call of the muezzin. What distant valley, what wayside abode Is holding back That valiant caravan of rampant Love. Germany witnessed the upheaval of religious reforms That left no trace of the old perspective. Infallibility of the church sage began to ring false. Reason, once more, unfurled its sails. France too went through its revolution That changed the entire orientation of Western life. Followers of Rome, Feeling antiquated worshipping the ancientry, Also rejuvenated themselves With the relish of novelty. The same storm is raging today In the soul of the Muslim. A Divine secret it is, Not for the lips to utter. Let us see what surfaces From the depths of the deep. Let us see what colour The blue sky changes into. Clouds in the yonder valley Are drenched in roseate twilight. The parting sun has left behind Mounds and mounds of rubies, the best from Badakhshan. Simple and doleful is the song Of the peasants daughter: Tender feelings adrift in the tide of youth. O, the everflowing waters of Guadalquivir1, Someone on your banks Is seeing a vision of some other period of time. Tomorrow is still in the womb of intention, But its dawn is flashing before my minds eye. Were I to lift the veil From the profile of my reflections, The West would be dazzled by its brilliance. Life without change is death. The tumult and turmoil of revolution Keep the soul of a nation alive. Keen, as a sword in the hands of Destiny Is the nation That evaluates its actions at each step. Incomplete are all creations Without the lifeblood of the creator. Soulless is the melody Without the lifeblood of the maestro. [Translated by Saleem A. Gilani]

MUTAMIDS LAMENT IN PRISON

Mutamid was the king of Seville and an Arabic poet. He was defeated and imprisoned by a ruler of Spain. Mutamids poems have been translated into English and published in the Wisdom of the East series. In my breast, A wail of grief,

Note from IqbalThe wellknown river of

Cordoba, near which the Mosque is located.

Gabriels Wing 287 Without any spark or flash, Alone survives, Passionless, ineffectual. A free man is in prison today, Without a spear or a sword; Regret overwhelms me And also my strategy. My heart Is drawn by instinct to chains. Perhaps my sword was of the same steel. Once I had a twoedged sword It turned into the chains that shackle me now. How whimsical and indifferent Is the Author of fates. [Translated by Mustansir Mir] * That blood of pristine vigour is no more; That yearning hearts power is no more; Prayer, fasting, hajj, sacrifice survive, But in thee natures old dower is no more. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Life owes itself to the heat of ones soul: Flame does not rise from dust. The Syrian evenings fallen star Shined brighter in the exiles dawn. There are no frontiers for the Man of Faith, He is at home everywhere. [Translated by the Editors]

SPAIN
(Written in Spainon the way back) Spain! You are the trustee of the Muslim blood: In my eyes you are sanctified like the Harem. Prints of prostration lie hidden in your dust, Silent calls to prayers in your morning air. In your hills and vales were the tents of those, The tips of whose lances were bright like the stars. Is more henna needed by your pretties? My lifeblood can give them some colour! How can a Muslim be put down by the straw and grass, Even if his flame has lost its heat and fire! My eyes watched Granada as well, But the travellers content neither in journey nor in rest: I saw as well as showed, I spoke as well as listened, Neither seeing nor learning brings calm to the heart!

FIRST DATE TREE SEEDED BY ABDUL RAHMAN THE FIRST

These verses from Abdul Rahman the First are quoted in Tarikh al Muqqari. The following Urdu poem is a liberal translation (the tree mentioned here was planted in Madinatut Zahra) You are the apple of my eye, My hearts delight: I am remote from my valley, To me you are the Burning Bush of Sinai! You are a houri of the Arabian Desert, Nursed by the Western breeze. I feel homesick in exile, You feel homesick in exile: Prosper in this strange land! May the morning dew quench your thirst! The world presents a strange sight: The visions mantle is torn apart May valour struggle with the waves if it must, The other side of the river is not to be seen!

288 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal * The veiled secrets are becoming manifest Bygone the days of you cannot see Me; Whosoever finds his self first, Is Mahdi himself, the Guide of the Last Age. [Translated by the Editors] This revolution of time is eternal; Only you are real, the rest is nothing but tales and legends. No one has ever seen yesterday or tomorrow: Today is the only time that is yours! [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

LENIN TARIQS PRAYER

(In the Battlefield of Andalusia) These warriors, victorious, These worshippers of Thine, Whom Thou hast granted the will To win power in Thy name; Who cleave rivers and woods in twain, Whose terror turns mountains into dust; They care not for the world; They care not for its pleasures; In their passion, in their zeal, In their love for Thee, O Lord, They aim at martyrdom, Not the rule of the earth. Thou hast united warring tribes, In thought, in deed, in prayer. The burning fire that life had sought For centuries, was found in them at last. They think of death, not as lifes end, But as the ennobling of the heart. Awaken in them an iron will, And make their eye a sharpened sword. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] * (Before God) All space and all that breathes bear witness; truth It is indeed; Thou art, and dost remain. How could I know that God was or was not, Where Reasons reckonings shifted hour by hour? The peerer at planets, the counterup of plants, Heard nothing there of Natures infinite music; Today I witnessing acknowledge realms That I once thought the mummery of the Church. We, manacled in the chains of day and night! Thou, moulder of all times atoms, builder of aeons! Let me have leave to ask this question, one Not answered by the subtleties of the schools, That while I lived under the skytents roof Like a thorn rankled in my heart, and made Such chaos in my soul of all its thoughts I could not keep my tumbling words in bounds. Oh, of what mortal race art Thou the God? Those creatures formed of dust beneath these heavens? Europes pale cheeks are Asias pantheon, And Europes pantheon her glittering metals. A blaze of art and science lights the West

Gabriels Wing 289 With darkness that no Fountain of Life dispels; In highreared grace, in glory and in grandeur, The towering Bank outtops the cathedral roof; What they call commerce is a game of dice For one, profit, for millions swooping death. There science, philosophy, scholarship, government, Preach mans equality and drink mens blood; Naked debauch, and want, and unemployment Are these mean triumphs of the Frankish arts! Denied celestial grace a nation goes No further than electricity or steam; Death to the heart, machines stand sovereign, Engines that crush all sense of human kindness. Yet signs are counted here and there that Fate, The chessplayer, has checkmated all their cunning. The Tavern shakes, its warped foundations crack, The Old Men of Europe sit there numb with fear; What twilight flush is left those faces now Is paint and powder, or lent by flask and cup. Omnipotent, righteous, Thou; but bitter the hours, Bitter the labourers chained hours in Thy world! When shall this galley of golds dominion flounder? Thy world Thy day of wrath, Lord, stands and waits. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] [Translated by the Editors]

SONG OF THE ANGLES

As yet the Reason is unbridled, and Love is on the road: O Architect of Eternity! Your design is incomplete. Drunkards, jurists, princes and priests all sit in ambush upon Your common folk: The days in Your world havent changed as yet. Your rich are too unmindful, Your poor too content The slave as yet frets in the street, the masters walls are still too high. Learning, religion, science and art are all means to fulfill lust: The grace of Lovethe redeemeris not as yet bestowed upon all. The essence of Life is Love, the essence of Love is the self; Alas! This cutting sword as yet rests in the sheath!

GODS COMMAND
(To His Angels) Rise, and from their slumber wake the poor ones of My world! Shake the walls and windows of the mansions of the great! Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of the slaves! Make the fearful sparrow bold to meet the falcons hate! Close the hour approaches of the kingdom of the poor Every imprint of the past find and annihilate! Find the field whose harvest is no peasants daily bread

290 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Garner in the furnace every ripening ear of wheat! Banish from the house of God the mumbling priest whose prayers Like a veil creation from Created separate! God by mans prostrations, by mans vows idols cheated Quench at once My shrine and their fane the sacred light! Rear for me another temple, build its walls with mud Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened is My sight! All their fine new world a workshop filled with brittle glass Go! My poet of the East to madness dedicate. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] * Theorizing is the infidelity of the self: To be a Moses is the secret of the self; Let me tell you the mystery of faqr as well as power: Guard your self while in poverty. [Translated by the Editors] The eye is dazzled but the soul is richly endowed. The heavy nightcloud has left behind it red and blue cloudlets: It has given a headdress of various hues to the Mount Idam to wear. Air is clean of dust particles; leaves of date palms have been washed; The sand around Kazimah is soft like velvet. The remains of burntout fire are observable here and a piece of tentrope there: Who knows how many caravans have passed through this tract. I heard the angel Gabriel saying to me: This indeed is your station For those acquainted with the pleasure of separation, this is the everlasting comfort. To whom should I say that the wine of life is poison to me: I have new experiences while the universe is decadent entire. Is there not another Ghaznavi in the factory of Life? The Somnaths of the People of the Harem have been awaiting a blow for long. The Arabian fervour and the Persian comfort Have both lost the Arabian acuteness and the Persian imagination. The Caravan of Hijaz has not another Husain amongst it Although the tresses of the Tigris and the Saadi Life to passion and ecstasysunrise in the desert: Luminous brooks are flowing from the fountain of the rising sun. The veil of being is torn, Eternal Beauty reveals itself: Euphrates are still as bright as ever. Intellect, heart and vision, all must take their first lessons from Love Religion and the religious law breed idols of illusion if there is no Love. The truthfulness of Abraham is but a form of Love, and so is the patience of Husain And so are Badr and Hunayn in the battle of existence.

ECSTASY
(Most of these verses were written in Palestine) I could not go to my friends emptyhanded From an orchard!

Gabriels Wing 291 The universe is a verse of God and you are the meaning to be grasped at last; Colour and scent are the caravans that set forth to seek you. The disciples in the schools are insipid and purblind; The esoteric of the monastery have low aims with empty bowls; Iwhose ghazal reflects the flame that has been lost, All my life I pined after the type of men that exists no more. The zephyr nurtures thorn and straw, While my breath nurtures passion in hearts; My song thrives upon my lifeblood: The strings of the instrument become alive with the blood of the musician. Give not occasion for conturbation to this restless heart; Bright are your tresses, brighten them even more. You are the Sacred Tablet, You are the Pen and the Book; This bluecolored dome is a bubble in the sea that you are. You are the lifeblood of the universe: You bestowed the illumination of a sun upon the particles of desert dust. The splendour of Sanjar and Selim: a mere hint of your majesty; The faqr of Junaid and Bayazid: your beauty unveiled. If my prayers are not led by my passion for you, My ovation as well as my prostrations would be nothing but veils upon my soul. A meaningful glance from you redeemed both of them: Reasonthe seeker in separation; and Love the restless one in Presence. The world has become dark since the sun has set down; Unveil your beauty to dawn upon this age. You are a witness on my life so far: I did not know that Knowledge is a tree that bears no fruit. The old battle was then revived in my conscience: Love, all Mustafa; Reason, all Abu Lahab. It persuaded me with art, it pulled me by force: Strange is Love at the beginning, strange in its perfection! Separation is greater than union in the state of ecstasy; For union is death to desire while separation brings the pleasure of longing. In the midst of the union I dared not cast a glance; Though my audacious eye was looking for a pretence. Separation is the warmth of hotpursuit; it is at the heart of fond lamentation It is why the wave is in search; it is why the pearl is precious. [Translated by the Editors]

THE MOTH AND THE FIREFLY

THE MOTH

The firefly is so far removed From the status of the moth! Why is it so proud Of a fire that cannot burn?
THE FIREFLY

God be thanked a hundred times, That I am not a moth That I am no beggar Of alien fire!

292 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal [Translated by Mustansir Mir] He is a beggar who begs money, be it large or small, Kings with royal pomp and pride, in fact, are beggars all. Adapted from Anwari [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

TO JAVID
A nations life is illumined by selfhood, Selfhood is the pathway to everlasting life. This one thing that Adam is not without the Purpose A manifold life, a manifold leisure!1 Earthbound crows cannot aspire to the eagles flights, But they corrupt the eagles lofty, noble habits. May God make thee a virtuous, blameless youth; Thou livest in an age deprived of decency. Iqbal was not at ease in a monastery, For he is bright, and sprightly, and full of wit,

HEAVEN AND THE PRIEST

Being present there, my impetuous tongue To silence I could not resign When an order from God of admission on high Came the way of that reverend divine; I humbly addressed the Almighty: O Lord, Excuse this presumption of mine, But hell never relish the virgins of heaven, The gardens green borders, the wine! For paradise isnt place for a preacher To meddle and meddle and mangle, And he, pious mansecond nature to him Is the need to dispute and to jangle; His business has been to set folk by the ears And get nations and sects in a tangle: Up there in the sky is no Mosque and no Church And no Templewith whom will he wrangle? [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

MENDICANCY
A witty man in a tavern spoke with a tongue untamed: The ruler of our state is a beggar unashamed; How many go bareheaded to deck him with a crown? How many go naked to supply his golden gown? The blood of the poor turns into his red wine; And they starve so that he may in luxury dine. The epicures table is loaded with delights, Stolen from the needy, stripped of all their rights.

CHURCH AND STATE

Monasticism was the churchs base Its austere living had no room for wealth. The anchorite and the king have ever been hostile;

Two lines, This one thinga manifold leisure!

have been provided by the editors. The translator left them out.

Gabriels Wing 293 One has humility; the other an exalted power. Church and state were separated at last; The revered priest was rendered powerless. When church and state parted the ways for ever, It set in the rule of avarice and greed. This split is a disaster both for country and faith, And shows the cultures blind lack of vision. It is the miracle of a desertdweller To make the grace a mirror to power. 1 Mankinds deliverance lies in the unity Of those who rule the body and those who rule the soul. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Iran; This slothful opulence evokes my sigh of pity. In vain if thou possessest Khusroes imperial pomp, If thou dost not possess prowess or contentment. Seek not thy joy or greatness in the glitter of Western life, For in contentment lies a Muslims joy and greatness. When an eagles spirit awakens in youthful hearts, It sees its luminous goal beyond the starry heavens. Despair not, for despair is the decline of knowledge and gnosis: The Hope of a Believer is among the confidants of God.2 Thy abode is not on the dome of a royal palace; Thou art an eagle and shouldst live on the rocks of mountains. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

TO A YOUNG MAN
Thy sofas are from Europe, thy carpets from

THE EARTH IS GODS

Who rears the seed in the darkness of the earth? Who lifts the cloud up from the oceans waves? Who summoned from the West the fruitful wind? Whose soil is this? Or whose that light of the sun? Who filled the grain like pearls, the ripe corns ear? Who taught the months by instruction to revolve? Landlord! This broad ploughland is not thine, it is not thine; Nor thy fathers land; it is not thine, it is not mine. [Translated by Sir Abdul Qadir]

COUNSEL
An eagle full of years to a young hawk said Easy your royal wings through high heaven spread: To burn in the fire of our own veins is youth! Strive, and in strife make honey of lifes gall; Maybe the blood of the pigeon you destroy,

Two lines, It is the miracleto the power, have

Two lines, Despair notconfidants of God,

been provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

have been provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

294 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal My son, is not what makes your swooping joy! Springs caravan has pitched its tent At the foot of the mountain, making it Look like the fabled garden of Iram With a riot of flowersiris, rose, Narcissus, lily, eglantine, And tulip in its martyrs gory shroud. The landscape is all covered with A multicoloured sheet, and colour flows Even in the veins of stones like blood. The breezes blow intoxicatingly In a blue sky, so that the birds Do not feel like remaining in their nests And fly about. Look at that hillstream. How It halts and bends and glides and swings around, And then, collecting itself, surges up And rushes on. Should it be stemmed, it would Cut open the hills hearts and burst the rocks. This hillstream, my fair saki, has A message to give us concerning life. Attune me to this message and, Come, let us celebrate the spring, Which comes but once a year. Give me that wine whose heat Burns up the veils of hidden things, Whose light illuminates lifes mind, Whose strength intoxicates the universe, Whose effervescence was Creations source. * Iqbal recited once in a garden in Spring A couplet cheerful and bright in tone and spirit: Unlike the rose, I need no breeze to blossom., My soul doth blossom with my ecstasy. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] Come lift the veil off mysteries, And make a mere wagtail take eagles on. The times have changed; so have their signs. New is the music, and so are the instruments. The magic of the West has been exposed, And the magician stands aghast. The politics of the ancient regime Are in disgrace: world is tired of kings. The age of capitalism has passed,

POPPY OF THE WILDERNESS

Oh blue skydome, oh world companionless! Fear comes on me in this wide desolation. Lost travellers, you and I; what destination Is yours, bright poppy of the wilderness? No prophet walks these hills, or we might be Twin Sinaiflames; you bloom on Heavens spray For the same cause I tore myself away: To unfold; to be our selves, our wills agree. On the diver of Loves pearlbank be Gods hand In every oceandrop all oceans deeps! The whirlpool mourning for its lost wave weeps, Born of the sea and never to reach the land. Mans hot blood makes earths fevered pulses race, With stars and sun for audience. Oh cool air Of the desert! Let it be mine too to share In silence and heartglow, rapture and grace. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

SAKINAMA

Gabriels Wing 295 The juggler, having shown his tricks, has gone. The Chinese are awaking from their heavy sleep. Fresh springs are bubbling forth from Himalayan heights. Cut open is the heart of Sinai and Faran, And Moses waits for a renewed theophany. The Muslim, zealous though about Gods unity, Still wears the Hindus sacred thread around his heart. In culture, mysticism, canon law And dialectical theology He worships idols of nonArab make. The truth has been lost in absurdities, And in traditions is this ummah rooted still. The preachers sermon may beguile your heart, But there is no sincerity, no warmth in it. It is a tangled skein of lexical complexities, Sought to be solved by logical dexterity. The Sufi, once foremost in serving God, Unmatched in love and ardency of soul, Has got lost in the maze of Ajams ideas: At halfway stations is this traveller stuck. Gone out is the fire of love. O how sad! The Muslim is a heap of ashes, nothing more. O Saki, serve me that old wine again, Let that old cup go round once more. Lend me the wings of Love and make me fly. Turn my dust to fireflies that flit about. Free young mens minds from slavery, And make them mentors of the old. The millats tree is green thanks to your sap: You are its bodys breath. Give it the strength to vibrate and to throb; Lend it the heart of Murtaza, the fervour of Siddiq. Drive that old arrow through its heart Which will revive desire in it. Blest be the stars of Your heavens; blest be Those who spend their nights praying to You. Endow the young with fervent souls; Grant them my vision and my love. I am a boat in a whirlpool, stuck in one place. Rescue me and grant me mobility. Tell me about the mysteries of life and death, For Your eye spans the universe. The sleeplessness if my tearshedding eyes; The restless yearnings hidden in my heart; The prayerfulness of my cries at midnight; My melting into tears in solitude and company; My aspirations, longings and desires; My hopes and quests; my mind that mirrors the times (A field for thoughts gazelles to roam); My heart, which is a battlefield of life, Where legions of doubt war with faith O Saki, these are all my wealth; Possessing them, I am rich in my poverty. Distribute all these riches in my caravan, And let them come to some good use. In constant motion is the sea of life. All things display lifes volatility. It is life that puts bodies forth, Just as a whiff of smoke becomes a flame. Unpleasant to it is the company Of matter, but it likes to see Its striving to improve itself. It is fixed, yet in motion, straining at The leash to get free of the elements. A unity imprisoned in diversity, It is unique in every form and shape. This world, this sexdimensioned idolhouse, This Somnat is all of its fashioning.

296 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal It is not its way to repeat itself: You are not I, I am not you. With you and me and others it has formed Assemblies, but is solitary in their midst. It shines in lightning, in the stars, In silver, gold and mercury. Its is the wilderness, its are the trees, Its are the roses, its are the thorns. It pulverises mountains with its might, And captures Gabriel and houris in its noose. There is a silvergrey, brave falcon here, Its talons covered with the blood of partridges, And over there, far from its nest, A pigeon helplessly aflutter in a snare. Stability is an illusion of eyes, For every atom in the world pulsates with change. The caravan of life does not halt anywhere, For every moment life renews itself. Do you think life is great mystery? No, it is only a desire to soar aloft. It has seen many ups and downs, But likes to travel rather than to reach the goal; For travelling is lifes outfit: it Is real, while rest is appearance, nothing more. Life loves to tie up knots and then unravel them. Its pleasure lies in throbbing and in fluttering. When it found itself face to face with death, It learned that it was hard to ward it off. So it descended to this world, Where retribution is the law, And lay in wait for death. Because of its love of duality, It sorted all things out in pairs, And then arose, host after host, From mountains and from wilderness. It was a branch from which flowers kept Shedding and bursting forth afresh. The ignorant think that lifes impress is Ephemeral, but it fades only to emerge anew. Extremely fleetfooted, It reaches its goal instantly. From times beginning to its end Is but one moments way for it. Time, chain of days and nights, is nothing but A name for breathing in and breathing out. What is this whiff of air called breath? A sword, and selfhood is that swords sharp edge. What is the self? Lifes inner mystery, The universes waking up. The self, drunk with display, is also fond Of solitude;an ocean in a drop. It shines in light and darkness both; Displayed in individuals, yet free from them. Behind it is eternity without Beginning, and before it is Eternity without an end; It is unlimited both ways. Swept on by the waves of times stream, And at the mercy of their buffeting, It yet changes the course of its quest constantly, Renewing its way of looking at things. For it huge rocks are light as air: It smashes mountains into shifting sand. Both its beginning and its end are journeying, For constant motion is its beings law. It is a ray of light in the moon and A spark in stone. It dwells In colours, but is colourless itself. It has nothing to do with more or less,

Gabriels Wing 297 With light and low, with fore and aft. Since times beginning it was struggling to emerge, And finally emerged in the dust that is man. It is in your heart that the Self has its abode, As the sky is reflected in the pupil of the eye. To one who treasures his self, bread Won at the cost of selfrespect is gall. He values only bread he gains with head held high. Abjure the pomp and might of a Mahmud; Preserve your self, do not be an Ayaz. Worth offering is only that prostration which Makes all others forbidden acts. This world, this riot of colours and of sounds, Which is under the sway of death, This idolhouse of eye and ear, In which to live is but to eat and drink, Is nothing but the Selfs initial stage. O traveller, it is not your final goal. The fire that is you has not come Out of this heap of dust. You have not come out of this world; It has come out of you. Smash up this mountainous blockade, Go further on and break out of This magic ring of time and space. Gods lion is the self; Its quarry are both earth and sky. There are a hundred worlds still to appear, For Beings mind has not drained Of its creative capabilities. All latent worlds are waiting for releasing blows From your dynamic action and exuberant thought. It is the purpose of the revolution of the spheres That your selfhood should be revealed to you. You are the conqueror of this world Of good and evil. How can I tell you The whole of your long history? Words are but a straitjacket for reality: Reality is a mirror, and speech The coating that makes it opaque. Breaths candle is alight within my breast, But my power of utterance cries halt. Should I fly even a hairbreadth too high, The blaze of glory would burn up my wings. [Translated by M. Hadi Husain]

TIME
What was, has faded: what is, is fading: but of these words few can tell the worth; Time still is gaping with expectation of what is nearest its hour of birth. New tidings slowly come drop by drop from my pitcher gurgling of times new sights, As I count over the beads strung out on my threaded rosary of days and nights. With each man friendly, with each I vary, and have a new part at my command: To one the rider, to one the courser, to one the whiplash of reprimand. If in the circle you were not numbered, was it your own fault or mine? To humour noone am I accustomed to keep untasted the midnight wine! No planetgazer can ever see through my winding mazes; for when the eye That aims it sees by no lights from Heaven, the arrow wavers and glances by. That is no dawn at the Western skylineit is a bloodbath, that ruddy glow!

298 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Await tomorrow; our yesterday and today are legends of long ago. From Natures forces their reckless science has stripped the garments away, until At last its own nestingplace is scorched by the restless lightning it cannot still: To them the tradewind belongs, the sky way, to them the ocean, to them the ship It shall not serve them to calm the whirlpool by which their fate holds them in its grip! But now a new world is being born, while this old one sinks out of sight of men, This world the gamblers of Europe turned into nothing else than a gamblingden. That man will still keep his lantern burning, however tempests blow strong and cold, Whose soul is centred on high, whose temper the Lord has cast in the royal mould. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan] [Translated by the Editors]1

ADAM IS RECEIVED BY THE SPIRIT OF THE EARTH

Open thy eyes and look above, Look at the streak of dawn; Look at the veiling of the vision; Look at the banishment unfair; Look at the battle of hope and fear. Thine are the clouds, the rains, the skies, Thine are the winds, the storms, The woods, the mountains, the rivers are thine; The world of the angels was a void; Look at the peopled earth, which is thine. Thou wilt rule it like a king; The stars will gaze in wonder; Thy vision will encompass the earth; Thy sighs will reach the heavens; Look at the power of thy pain and passion. The spark in thee is a radiant sun; A new world lives in thee; Thou carest not for a borrowed heaven; Thy lifeblood has it concealed; Look at the reward of anguish and toil. Thy lyre has an eternal plaintive string, Panting with the passion of love; Thou guardest eternal secrets divine, And livest a life of obedient power; Look at the world as shaped by thy will. * My nature is like the fresh breeze of morn: Gentle sometimes, at other times strong;

THE ANGELS BID FAREWELL TO ADAM

You have been given the restlessness of Day and Night, We know not whether you are made of clay or mercury; We hear you are created from clay, But in your nature is the glitter of Stars and Moon. Your sleep would be preferable over much wakefulness If you could behold your own beauty even in a dream! Your morning sighs are invaluable For they are the water to your ancient tree. Your melody unravels the secret of life For it is Nature that has attuned your organ.

Based on a translation provided by S.A. Vahid in

Iqbal and Western Poets in Iqbal PoetPhilosopher of the East (1971), edited by Hafeez Malik.

Gabriels Wing 299 I give a velvet mantle to flower petals, And to prickly thorns, the sharpness of the needle.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Thy glance of wisdom brightens my heart; Explain to me the order for jihad.
RUMI

THE MENTOR AND THE DISCIPLE

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Break the image of God by the command of Discerning eyes bleed in pain, For faith is ruined by knowledge in this age.
RUMI

God, Break the friends glass, with the friends stone.

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Fling it on the body, and knowledge becomes a serpent; Fling it on the heart, and it becomes a friend.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE:

Oriental eyes are dazzled by the West; Western nymphs are fairer than those in Paradise.
RUMI

Master of love; of God! I do remember thy noble words: Wherefrom comes this Friendly voice Thin, feeble, and dry as a reed? The world today has an eternal sadness, With neither joy, nor love, nor certitude, What doth it know about this mystery Who is the friend, and what is the friends voice? The sound of music is a dirge In the Wests crumbling pageant.
RUMI

Silver glisters white and new, But blackens the hands and clothes.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

The warmblooded youths in schools, Alas, are victims of Western magic!

RUMI

When an unfledged bird begins its flight, It becomes a ready feline morsel.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

How long this clash between church and state? Is the body superior to the soul?
RUMI

Every ear is not attuned to the word of truth, As a fig suits not the palate of every bird.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Coins may jingle at night, But gold waits for the morrow.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

I have mastered knowledge of both the East and the West, My soul suffers still in agony.
RUMI

Tell me about the secret of man, Tell how dust is a peer of the stars.
RUMI

Quacks sicken you more; Come to us for a cure.

His outside dies of an insects bite, His inside roams the seven heavens.

300 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE RUMI

Dust with thy help has a luminous eye, Is mans purpose knowledge or vision?
RUMI

To be the slave of a man with an illumined heart, Is better than to rule the rulers of the land.

Man is perception; the rest is skin; Perception is the perception of God.

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

I am at a loss to know the puzzle Of free will and determination.

The East lives on through your words! Of what disease nations die?
RUMI

RUMI

Wings bring a hawk to Kings; Wings bring a crow to the grave.

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Every nation that perished in the past, Perished for mistaking stone for incense.1
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

What is the aim of the Prophets path The rule of the earth, or a monastery?

Muslims have now lost their vigour and force; Wherefore are they so timid and tame?
RUMI

RUMI

Prudence in our faith decrees war and power, In the faith of Jesusa cave and mount.

No nation meets its doom, Until it angers a man of God.2

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

How to discipline the body? And how to awaken the heart?

Though life is a mart without any lustre, What kind of bargain doth offer some gain?
RUMI

RUMI

Be obedient, ride on the earth like a horse, Not like a corpse borne on shoulders.

Sell cleverness and purchase wonder; Cleverness is doubt; wonder is perception.

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

The secret of faith I do not know; How to believe in the Day of Judgement?
RUMI

My peers consort with kings in court, While I am a beggar, uncovered, bare headed. Be the Judgement Day, and see the Judgement Day;

Four lines, The East livesfor incense are

Two lines, No nationa man of God are from

provided by the editors since the translator had left them out.

the editorial material in What Should Then Be Done O People of the East (1977) by B.A. Dar:

Gabriels Wing 301 This is the condition for seeing everything.

THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

But I grovel in the dust; I have failed in the affairs of the world; Kicks and buffets are my lot; Why is material world beyond my reach? Why are the wise in faith, fools in the world?
RUMI

The selfhood soars up to the skies It preys upon the sun and the moon Deprived of the Presence, relying on existence, wearied: Impoverished by its own preys.
RUMI

One who can scale the heights of heaven, Can tread the path of earth with ease.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Love alone is fit to be hunted, But who can ever ensnare it!1
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Thou knowest the heart of the universe; Tell how a nation can be strong?
RUMI

What is the secret of knowledge and wisdom? And how to be blessed with passion and pain?
RUMI

If thou art a grain, it will be picked by birds, And if a blossom, it will be picked by urchins. Hide thy grain, and be the trap; Hide thy blossom, and be the grass.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Knowledge and wisdom are born of honest living; Love and ecstasy are born of honest living.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

The world demands me to meet and mingle, But the song is born in solitude.
RUMI

Thou callest me to seek the heart; To be a seeker of the heart, and to be in a conflict; My heart is in my breast, Like a mirror, it shows my powers.
RUMI

Keep away from strangers, not from Him, Wrap thyself for winter, not for spring.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

Thou sayest thou hast a heart The heart is not below, but in the empyrean, Thou thinkest thy heart is a heart, Forsaking the search for illumined hearts.
THE INDIAN DISCIPLE

India now has no light of vision or yearning; Men of illumined hearts have fallen on evil days.
RUMI

My mind soars in ethereal flights,

Imparting heat and light is the task of the brave;

The italicised lines are provided by the editors; the

translator had left them out.

302 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Cunning and shamelessness are the refuge of the mean. * Thy body knows not the secrets of thy heart, And so thy sighs reach not the heights of heaven; God is disgusted with bodies without souls; The living God is the God of living souls. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] The angels lost face with Godwhat a disgrace that was!
IBLIS

With my boldness I make this handful of dust rise up. My mischief weaves the garment that reason wears. From the shore you watch the clash of good and evil. Which of us suffers the buffets of the stormsyou or I? Both Khizr and Ilyas feel helpless: The storms I have stirred up rage in oceans, rivers, and streams. If you are ever alone with God, ask Him: Whose blood coloured the story of Adam? I rankle in Gods heart like a thorn. But what about you? All you do is chant He is God over and over! [Translated by Mustansir Mir] * The mentor exhorted his disciples once: Listen to my words, in value greater than gold: The Western wine is poison for the people, When the offspring knows neither pride nor skill. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

GABRIEL AND IBLIS

GABRIEL

Old friend, how goes the world of colour and smell?

IBLIS

Burning and suffering, scars and pain, seeking and longing!

GABRIEL

They are all talking about you in the celestial spheres. Could your ripped garment still be mended?
IBLIS

Ah, Gabriel, you do not know this secret: When my winejug broke it turned my head. I can never walk this place again! How quiet this region is! There are no houses, no streets! One whose despair warms the heart of the universe What suits him best, Give up hope or Dont give up hope!
GABRIEL

THE PRAYERCALL
One night among the planets The Star of Morning said Has ever star seen slumber Desert Mans drowsy head? Fate, being nimblewitted, Bright Mercury returned,

You gave up exalted positions when you said No.

Gabriels Wing 303 Served well that pretty rebel Tame sleep was what he earned! Have we, asked Venus, nothing To talk about besides? Or what is it to us, where That nightblind firefly hides? A star, the Full Moon answered, Is man, of terrene ray: You walk the night in splendour, But so does he the day; Let him once learn the joy of Outwatching nights brief span Higher than all the Pleiades The unfathomed dust of Man! Closed in that dust a radiance Lies hidden, in whose clear light Shall all the skys fixed tenures And orbits fade from sight. Suddenly rose the prayercall, And overwhelmed heavens lake; That summons at which even Cold hearts of mountains quake. SESTET Though I have little of rhetoricians art, Maybe these words will sink into your heart: A quenchless crying on God through the boundless sky A dusty rosary, earthbound litany So worship men selfknowing, drunk with God; So worship priest, dead stone, and mindless clod. That taught Ghaznis high ruler to dote on his slave. When the spirit of Love has no place on the throne, All wisdom and learning vain tricks and pretence! Paying court to no king, by no king held in awe, Love is freedom and honor, whose scorn of the world Holds more than the magic that made Alexander His fabulous mirrorits magic makes man. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

THE STARS MESSAGE

I fear not the darkness of the night; My nature is bred in purity and light; Wayfarer of the night! Be a lamp to thyself; With thy passions flame, make thy darkness bright. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui] TO JAVID (On receiving his first letter in London) Build in loves empire your hearth and your home; Build Time anew, a new dawn, a new eve! Your speech, if God give you the friendship of Nature, From the rose and tulips long silence weave. No gifts of the Franks clever glassbowers ask! From Indias own clay mould your cup and your flask. My songs are the grapes on the spray of my vine;

LOVE
The martyrs of Love are not Muslim nor Paynim, The manners of Love are not Arab nor Turk! Some passion far other than Love was the power

304 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Distil from their clusters the poppyred wine! The way of the hermit, not fortune, is mine; Sell not your soul! In a beggars rags shine. [Translated by Javid Iqbal] He who eats Gods light, becomes the Quran. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

AT NAPOLEONS TOMB
Strange, strange the fates that govern This world of stress and strain, But in the fires of action Fates mysteries are made plain. The sword of Alexander Rose sunlike form that blaze To make the peaks of Alwand Run molten in its rays. Actions loud storm called Timurs Allconquering torrent down And what to such wild billows Are fortunes smile or frown? The prayers of Gods folk treading The battlefields red sod, Forged in that flame of action Become the voice of God! But only a brief moment Is granted to the brave One breath or two, whose wage is The long nights of the grave. Then silence at last the valley Of silence is our goal, Beneath this vault of heaven Let our deeds echoes roll!3 [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

Wherefore this succession of day and night? And what are the sun and the starry heavens? Am I in my land or in banishment? The vastness of this desert fills me with fright. I know not the enigma of this life of mine; I know not where to find one who knows. Avicenna wonders where he came from; And Rumi wonders where he should go. With every wayfarer I pace a little; I know not yet who my leader is1.

A LETTER FROM EUROPE

We venture not beyond the shores Being to the senses confined. But Rumi is an ocean, Stormy, mysterious. Iqbal! Thou, too, art moving In that band of men That band of men of passion, Of which Rumi is the guide. Rumi, they say, Is the guiding light for freedom; Has he, indeed, a message, For the age we live in?

REPLY2
Eat not hay and corn like donkeys; Eat of thy choice like the muskdeer; He dies who eats hay and corn,
1 2

MUSSOLINI
What is the originality of thought and action?a taste for revolution.

The italicized lines are from Ghalib in Urdu. These lines are from Rumi in Persian.

The italicised lines are from Hafiz of Shiraz in

Persian.

Gabriels Wing 305 What is the originality of thought and action?the age of youth for a nation. Originality of thought and action creates miracles of life: It turns pebbles into ruby stones. O Great Rome! Your conscience has changed altogether: Is this a dream I see or is this for real! Your old have the gleam of life in their eyes; The flame of desire warms up the hearts of your young. This warmth of love, this longing and this selfexpression: Flowers cannot hide themselves in the season of Spring. Songs of passion fill your air now The instrument of your nature was awaiting someone to play on it! Whose benevolent eye has graced this miracle upon you? He whose vision is like the light of the Sun! Creatures of dust from the soil may draw bread: Not in that darkness is Lifes river fed! Base will his metal be held, who on earth Puts not to trial his innermost worth! Break all the idols of tribe and of caste, Break the old customs that fetter men fast! Here is true victory, here is faiths crown One creed and one world, division thrown down! Cast on the soil of your clay the hearts seed: Promise of harvest to come, is that seed!

NADIR SHAH OF AFGHANISTAN

Laden with pearls departed from the presencehall of God That cloud that makes the pulse of life stir in the rosebuds vein And on its way saw Paradise, and trembled with desire That on such exquisite abode it might descend in rain. A voice sounded from Paradise: They wait for you afar, Kabul and Ghazni and Herat, and their newspringing grass; Scatter the tear from Nadirs eye on the poppys burning scar, That never more may be put out the poppys glowing fire! [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

A QUESTION
A selfrespecting tramp was saying to the Almighty: I dare not complain for my woes of poverty; But pray tell me if it is by Your permission That the angels bestow riches upon the worthless ones? [Translated by the Editors]

TO THE PUNJAB PEASANT

What is this life of yours, tell me its mystery Trampled in dust is your agesold history! Deep in that dust has been smothered your flame Wake, and hear dawn its high summons proclaim!

306 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal

THE LAST TESTAMENT OF KHUSHHAL KHAN KHATTAK1

Let the tribes be lost in the unity of the nation, So that the Afghans gain prestige! The youth to whom the stars are not out of bounds Are the ones I love indeed In no way is this child of the mountains Inferior to the Mughal. May I tell you my secret, O Comrade: Khushhal Khan would much like that his burial place Be far from the reaches of the dust blown by the Mughal cavalry, Carried by the mountain wind. [Translated by the Editors]

A gem set in a ring of misery That circles me on every side, am I.2 Suddenly quivered the dust of Samarkand, And from an ancient tomb a light shone, pure As the first gleam of daybreak, and a voice Was heard:I am the spirit of Timur! Chains may hold fast the men of Tartary, But Gods firm purposes no bonds endure Is this what life holdsthat Turanias peoples All hope in one another must abjure? Call in the soul of man a new fire to birth! Cry a new revolution over the earth! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

WORLDS APART
When the heart is enlightened, It is blessed with an inward eye. The initiate has a different level Of space and time in each position. The mullahs and the crusaders azan, The same in words, are apart in spirit. The vulture and the eagle soar In the same air, but in worlds apart. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

THE TARTARS DREAM

Prayermat and priestly turban have turned footpad, With wanton boys bold glances men are flattered; The Churchs mantle and the creed in shreds, The robe of State and nation torn and tattered. I cling to faith but may its spark not soon Lie quenched under these rubbishheaps thickscattered! Bokharas humble dust and Samarkands The turbulent billows of many winds have battered.

ABU AL ALA ALMAARRI2

It is said that Maarri never ate meat; He lived on fruit and vegetables. A friend sent him a roasted partridge, To allure that clever gentleman into eating meat.

Iqbals noteKhushhal Khan Khattak was a

translation from London in 1862. This couplet is anonymous.

Iqbals note

wellknown patriotic poet of Pushto who forged a union of Afghan tribes of the Frontier to liberate Afghanistan from the Mughals. Only the Afridis among the tribes remained on his side till the last. About a hundred of his poems were published in

Nasiruddin Tusi quoted it, probably in Sharah Isharat. 2 Iqbals note Abu al Ala alMaarri, a famous Arabic poet.

Gabriels Wing 307 When Maarri saw that elegant tray He, the author of Ghufran and Lazumat said,
1 2

Whose ardent breath fans every free hearts ardour, Whom Allah sent in season to keep watch In India on the treasurehouse of Islam. I craved the saints gift, otherworldliness For my eyes saw, yet dimly. Answer came: Closed is the long roll of the saints; this Land Of the Five Rivers stinks in good mens nostrils. Gods people have no portion in that country Where lordly tassel sprouts from monkish cap; That cap bred passionate faith, this tassel breeds Passion for playing pander to Government. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

O You helpless little bird, would you tell me your sin For which this punishment has been awarded to you? Alas, you did not become a falcon; Your eye did not perceive the directives of Nature. It is the eternal decree of the Judge sitting in Judgement on destinies That weakness is a crime punishable by death. [Translated by M. Munawwar Mirza]

CINEMA
Cinemaor new fetishfashioning, Idol making and mongering still? Art, men called that olden voodoo Art, they call this mumbojumbo; Thatantiquitys poor religion: Thismodernitys pigeonplucking; Thatearths soil: thissoil of Hades; Dust, their temple; ashes, ours.

POLITICS
Ranks must be determined for this game; Let you be the firzine and I the pawn by the grace of the chessplayer. The pawn, indeed, is an insignificant token, Even the farzine is not privy to the chessplayers strategy. [Translated by the Editors]

TO THE PUNJAB PIRS

I stood by the Reformers tomb: that dust Whence here below an orient splendour breaks, Dust before whose least speck stars hang their heads, Dust shrouding that high knower of things unknown Who to Jehangir would not bend his neck,

FAQR
There is a faqr that teaches the hunter to be a prey; There is another that opens the secrets of mastery over the world. There is a faqr that is the root of needfulness and misery among nations; There is another that turns mere dust into elixir.

Iqbals noteRisala tul Ghufran is the title of a

Iqbals noteLazumat is the collection of his

famous book by him.

panegyrics.

308 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal [Translated by the Editors] Meagersouled, plump of flesh, in fine clothes trussed, Brain ripe and subtle, heart not far from dead. What the Easts sacred law made men abjure, The casuist of the West pronounces pure; Knowest Thou not, the girls of Paradise see And mourn their gardens turning wilderness? For fiends its rulers serve the populace: Beneath the heavens is no more need of me! [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

THE SELF
Barter not thy selfhood for silver and gold; Sell not a burning flame for a spark halfcold; So says Firdowsi, the poet of vision and grace, Who brought to the East the dawn of brighter days: Be not a churl for filthy lucres sake, Count not thy coppers, whatever they may make. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

SEPARATION
The sun is weaving with golden thread A mantle of light about earths head; Creation hushed in ecstasy, As in the presence of the Most High. What can these knowstream, hill, moon, star Of separations torturing scar? Mine is this golden grief alone, To this dust only is this grief known. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

BLOOD
If blood is warm in the body, there is no fear nor anxiety, And the heart is free of tribulations. The one who has received this bounty Is neither greedy for wealth nor miserable in poverty.

FLIGHT
The tree said to a bird of the desert one day: Creation is founded on the principle of injustice; For the Creation could have been so much more pleasant If I had also been granted the gift of flight. The bird gave him a good reply: Woe! You regard justice to be injustice; He is not entitled to fly in this world, Whoever is not free from earthrootedness.

MONASTERY
Talking in signs and symbol is not for this age, And I know not the art of artful sniggers; No more are those who said: Rise, in Gods name! The ones alive are sweepers and grave diggers. [Translated by Naim Siddiqui]

TO THE HEADMASTER
The headmaster is an architect Whose material is the human soul. A good advice has been left for you By the sage Qaani: Do not raise a wall against the Sun

SATANS PETITION
To the Lord of the universe the Devil said: A firebrand Adam grows, that pinch of dust

Gabriels Wing 309 If you wish the courtyard illuminated. Not a rushlight for us,in our Masters Fine windows electric lights blaze! Town or village, the Muslims a duffer To his Brahmins like idols he prays. Not mere giftscompound interest these saints want, In each hairshirt a usurers dressed, Who inherits his seat of authority Like a crow in the eagles old nest. [Translated by V.G. Kiernan]

THE PHILOSOPHER
He could fly high but he wasnt daring and passionate, The sage remained a stranger to the secret of Love. The vulture roamed around the air like an eagle, But could not get acquainted with the taste of a fresh prey. [Translated by the Editors]

THE LAST WILL OF HARUN RASHID

Harun said to his son when his hour came, Youll will also pass this way some day. The Angel of Death is an unseen to the infidel, But it is not hidden from a Muslims eyes.

THE EAGLE
I have turned away from that place on earth Where sustenance takes the form of grain and water. The solitude of the wilderness pleases me By nature I was always a hermit No spring breeze, no one plucking roses, no nightingale, And no sickness of the songs of love! One must shun the gardendwellers They have such seductive charms! The wind of the desert is what gives The stroke of the brave youth fighting in battle its effect. I am not hungry for pigeon or dove For renunciation is the mark of an eagles life. To swoop, withdraw and swoop again Is only a pretext to keep up the heat of the blood. East and West these belong to the world of the pheasant, The blue skyvast, boundlessis mine! I am the dervish of the kingdom of birds The eagle does not make nests. [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

TO THE PSYCHOLOGIST
Transcend the intellect if you have courage to do so: There are islands hidden in the ocean of the self as yet. The secrets of this silent sea, however, do not yield Until you cut it with the blow of the Moses rod. [Translated by the Editors]

EUROPE
The Jewish moneylenders, whose cunning beats the lions prowess, Have been waiting hopefully for long. Europe is ready to drop like a ripe fruit, Lets see in whose bag it goes. Adapted from Nietzsche [Translated by the Editors]

DISCIPLES IN REVOLT

FREEDOM OF THOUGHT

310 Collected Poetical Works of Iqbal Falling down is the destiny of that bird Whose duality of nature renders him unable to fly. Not every heart is an abode to the trusty Gabriel, Nor can every thought ensnare the Paradise like a bird. The ecstasy of thought is dangerous in a nation Where the individuals observe no rule. Though Godgifted intellect is the lamp of an age, The freedom of thought is a Satanic concept. [Translated by the Editors] [Translated by Mustansir Mir]

THE LION AND THE MULE

THE LION

You are so different and unlike All the other dwellers of the wild and the desert! Who are your parents and ancestors? And what is your tribe?
THE MULE

Perhaps your highness does not know My unclemy mothers brother: He gallops like the wind, and is The pride of the royal stable! Adapted from German

THE ANT AND THE EAGLE

THE ANT

I am so miserable and forlorn Why is your station loftier than the skies?
THE EAGLE

You forage about in dusty paths; The nine heavens are as nothing to me!