To the Nation (6-10)

(6)
The Message of Farooq

O desert’s breeze rise from ‘Arab’s sky, From Egypt’s Nile raise a new wave high.

Give Farooq’s message to King Farooq’s race, How content is mixed with the kingship’s face.

Tue Faqr and Caliphate with King’s Crown shine, A great wealth this is which never declines

O Young king! leave not the content’s boon, Sans it the kingship ends very soon.

A young man who peeps in his ego deep, Can make a world anew on old world’s heap.

Around his circle lo! are thousand leagues, In self’s reading though a solace he needs.

For sense and heart’s sake leave each door ajar, Take a cup thus from every sect’s bar.

Make all the efforts with love and heart pure, To lead a chaste life with no greed and lure

How happy is the race who wins her goal, Who never took rest for that purpose sole.

See her shine and sheen beneath this sky, Like a sword drawn out and unfurled high.

That Turkish seaman how sang a song gay, His purple face beamed with eyes blue gray.

When I see a gale my heart then regales, To tempest time ties my hardihood hails!

The world rule is destined to my own dust, The world’s guidance writ on my forehead first.

In thy bosom see the whole world’s map, Whose seed was sown first in Farooq’s lap.

To certitude truth who so ever knew, With two eyes he had had the oneness view.

As we often join two lamps in need Be cautious from rift in home and creed.

A Muslim who tested his own ego first, He took to the heavens his paths’s own dust.

Keep an eye on, if you hold the love flame, With that you could make the whole world tame.

(7)
To The Arab Poet

To Arab poets sweet on my part say, I shun to versify on red lips gay.

From a beam I had of Holy Book’s light, After hundred years nights I see a dawn bright

I caused in his soul a verve a heat, To cottage or castle a dust I treat.

This brook may once vie a noisy sea’s pride, As I gave this brook a passion of tide.

You leave making now the portraits on wall, Be friendly with conscience and ego’s call.

Since you got growth in my nation’s lawn, Fill your song’s flame in their brain and brawn.

My heart has a grief, and dust has a heart, Yet this old branch claims His moist’s great part.

With thy skill’s magic cause a fount so, In each Muslim lies a fountain lo!

Of virtues of God Muslim has a part, Like secrets of God a secret is heart.

I saw not his beauty save of God’s own, In the cosmos conscience his roots are grown.

Give to his dust that flame and might, Which brings into being a sun from night.

Hit a tune and tone due to whose grace, He gets a new verve from world’s new face.

A Muslim you were named for grief’s bargain, To be restive for friends in pains and strains.

He cares not for himself in nation’s cause, He shouts “I am Ummah from every clause.”

On whom were opened the secrets of soul, With his own eyes he sees the cosmos whole.

Make in thy heart his love’s cosy room, And turn the autumn to vernal bloom.

So guard the nature of thy mud and dust, A bliss, trance and burning for thee is must.

I see empty bowls of the nation’s whole, A lasting wine lasts in thy heart’s own bowl.

The hill and desert night defies thy day, The birds and waves know not their old songs gay.

This world wont lit up from the hermit’s lamp, Thy sun light is needed in every camp.

Read the clear writing on thy forehead’s slate, Find out a way to change thy future fate.

Like me find a way on the Harem’s land, To know thy worth true, thy own grit and sand.

(8)
O Son of the Desert

When all the desert sides were bright from dawn, From tree a bird tuned to a youth in lawn.

O desert’s son! leave thy tent with haste, You lead a dull life which lacks journey taste.

The Truth chose Arab for caravan’s lead, On faqr since he tested his own self’s breed.

If the poor’s content with envy is green, His growth can upset the whole world’s scene.

Those nights had the uproar for future’s dawn, Being lit up with light of the Sinai’s lawn.

Thus the desert life made their brawns and brains, Arid nations arose Crom those desert lanes.

(9)
From the Dust a Rider comes do you know?

Learn the ways to win His pleasure and grace, Be truthful to Him and whole human race.

Take me not poet in this or that sense, Look my passions depth from the wisdom’s lens.

If a craze consumes the garden’s face, And saps its beauty and social grace.

I poured a verve and roar, in this town lanes, Will leave a craze yet to sharpen their brains.

The poppy of my dawn’s first vernal tide, Is burning alone from a scar I hide.

So under rate not my verve’s lone part, See caravans budding from my heart.

So scattered I’m like dust of the way, On the wings of storms I cannot stay.

How august and happy would be that day, When a ride is born from my own clay.

How lucky a nation whom wheel of fate, Had caused a wonder through a leader great.

His birth a secret of a secret hand, Who would change her fate in a manner grand.

In self’s own sea, I’m thus a restive’ wave, Till my waves in tempest to Coast would lave.

I found no better cast than my own face, With my own blood his picture I trace.

His glance would fill up the empty bowl, He runs the will’s wine in vine’s veins whole.

His storms and gales are a God gift free, He made a small brook, ‘rival of sea.

The caravans reins he would take when, He gives vision taste to each hidden then.

He makes so much bare the heavenly hosts That all nine skies would be tinder his force.

To that holy mother I greet with pride, From whom will be born the caravan’s guide.

On the lap of, ‘that’ fortunate dame, The paradise nymphs would feel a shame.

My heart thus says that the hero will hail, So gather you stocks as he would assail.

At death bed I heard a voice with zoom, When a flower fades a bud would bloom.

(10)
The Caliphate and Monarchy

The Arabs gained a lot from Prophet’s light, That the dead lamps of East, too became bright.

But the Caliphate lost that path and force, And taught the Momin first the Kingship’s course.

Take the Caliphate’s witness with a heed As the kingship is banned in our creed.

A trick is the kingship with each new face, The Caliphate but was the God’s own grace.

A Moses grapples with kingdoms all, And threatens tyrants though means are sina!

It happens oft that the wheel of fate, Turns a light breeze into tempest great.

The Adam is slave in this world yet, Yet his order raw, weak and poor set.

I am his page, who sheltered each Age, Who banned in my faith to keep a page.

The love, from his glance is stable and best, To love and passions his path is a Test.

His ‘slave’ he was ranked, yet the slave ranks. To eager world’s eyes in the Master’s Ranks.