036

The world had lost its sight And the glass of the heart forsook, But an eye now sees the light That into the heart can look.

Dark is the night, twists the road, All faithless the wayfarers; And the caravan’s guide what load Of problems oppressive bears!

Drunk are the feckless spy, The lover, the messenger; So the words of the sweethearts lie In how many loads to wear.

Its faith of believer true, Its doubt of the infidel— O Muslims, what shall I do With the heart that in me doth dwell?

Sometimes the helmsman’s skill The storm doth display, and more! Lo, the waves, impetuous will Hath cast our craft on the shore.

Who fashioned these seeing eyes In the wave, far in ocean lost, That the pearl in the sea’s heart lies, And the potsherd breaks on the coast?

No part of my soul’s unrest Hath stirred in my Native land; With my magic I tried my best, It was lost on the desert sand.

If a New World thou hast In thy bosom, declare thy faith! Wounded in heart and breast, Europe is nigh to death.

037

No friend in the world entire thou wilt find Sincere in solicitude Go, lose thyself in thy self, and mind The honour of loverhood.

I am grieved, that He Who created us In rapture to be displayed Hath concealed the infinite various Manners of that His trade.

None but Ayaz alone doth know This subtle and secret truth, How the Ghaznavid’s love augmented so His poor slave’s anguish and ruth.

Less than a grassblade, in my view, The knowledge and vision vast That the trusty sword and the buckler true From the hand of the warrior cast.

Whatever the price of these goods, ’tis well And profit will yield, not harm, Razi’s intelligence to sell For the power of Hyder’s arm.

If there is a drop of blood in thy vein, A flutter to storm the height. Come, learn with me the way to attain The falcon’s ascending flight.

If fluting thou thinkst is but taking breath, How little truth thou hast guessed; The minstrel his skill accomplisheth With the point of the sword in his breast!

038

The fine science thou dost learn After vision does not yearn; ‘Tis no wanderer far astray, But a straggler on the way.

He whose all embracing brain A new universe doth plan Burneth still with passion’s fire, Never lacketh high desire.

Though Love made the moon to err On the road a wayfarer, Never blazeth in its breast The vast furnace of unrest.

So His beauty doth entrance, I can never lift my glance From His Face, who heedlessly Doth not a glance spare for me.

See, Iqbal in manly clothes To his worldly labour goes; Proving that his dervishood Ne’er depends on gown and hood.

039

Vision can be won As of morning sun, Making this dark clay Radiant as day.

Let thy vision be Needle sharp in thee, Like its lustre pass Thro’ the heart o’ the glass.

In this garden, where Hushed is warbler’s air, As each bursting bud Chant thy tragic mode.

Earth hides not His grace, Heav’n veils not His face Thou may’st view, for sure, If thou canst endure.

Childlike watchest thou Nests beneath the bough; Mount on wings, and soon Hunt the sun and moon!

040

Too oft was thy light With strangers to take wine, To suffer others’ light Within the bowl to shine.

The orient wine bearer Hands thee the purple cup; Drink! Let the drunkard’s air From thy parched earth mount up!

The heart that knoweth well The fever of desire Moth like will hover still About the candle’s fire.

Sprinkle thy morning tears Upon life’s desert plain; New harvest scarce appears Except thou sow thy grain.

Pass wine! Speak not to me Of Europe’s tumult vast; Caravans countlessly That desolation passed.