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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, Follow the road you tread: When the cup to me was passed, The gathering all had fled.

Iqbal his glow to Muslims lent, Who in India dwell: An easy-going 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.