The kingship as whole is trick and skill, in Rome or Jeddah none safe from his kill. The sufferings of friends I say not to thee, in hope thy solace would make me happy.

A Muslim’s stuff has a life long stay, his lay out stands on a powerful clay. O wise critique see him from his view, the ‘Ego’ in him now shakes all through.

Ashamed is Muslim for losing his State, his dead faith is haunting some hermits great. You know their bequest and forefather’s line, he holds his ‘blanket’ as a kingship sign.

Ask me not of his present day lot, as if, earth and sky have made a plot; To bird who was reared on fruits of fig, the grains’ search in deserts a problem big.

I have scanned the whole world through his eye, so past and future tips I would untie. Thus ope more and more life’s secret tips; dive the Arab’s tone on this Ajmi’s lips.

The Muslims have raised no armament wings; his conscience is yet like conscience of kings. If he gets back his status again; through his beauty his grandeur would reign.

The assets of Sheikh were the fables old; on guess and thinking his Hadith was mould. He holds faith yet like a Hindu’s thread; his mosque thus sways in a temple’s stead.

He brought a total change in faithless world,’ they* say, ‘body is a track for life’s bird’**. With ‘faqr’*** thou destined to the Siddiq’s part; may fill a new thrill to this ease loving heart. * Scientists. **Soul. ***Ascetic nature (not poverty); a love of simple life.

From fane gets Harem its grandeur and glare; my ‘idol’ is a ‘pir’* with curly hair. None ill-starred came in my bosom’s frame; being lit up with light of his hopeful flame.** * guide is a ‘pir’. ** Of the Prophet (Sal’am)

As long in mosque the poor kept a row; they tore the emperors collars he; That fire when cooled in his heart and soul; they crawled to tombs of saints to roll.

The Moslems are fighting with brothers own; save seeds of rupture nothing they have sown. If you take a brick they raise cry and hue; a mosque from which they are fleeing all through.

To others than God we touch our brows; and sing like Guibers* in round about rows. I weep not on else, I weep on me; we are not fit for honours of thee. * Guibers; a fire worshipper, followers of Zoroaster, who was also a Prophet, most probably.

In the hands of drinkers the empty glass; my party’s bearer* is jobless alas. I keep an eye on sigh’s inner seat; whose source are the fumes of that lamp’s heat. * The lamp of the Prophet from which they seek light.

The synagogues bottles are void of wine; where teachers are the pupils of that line. The poets group I left with tears; their fifes and flutes are dead on ears.

The Muslims are foreigns on every land; are looked on this earth like a useless band. Though powerless still I twist and twine; I face the godless in every line.

With wings you gave I judge and fly; in heat of songs I burn and cry. A Muslim from whom shivers the death; I found him not on whole earth’s breadth.

At night before Lord I often cry; why Moslems are aimed for curse of sky. A voice came then, ‘You know not this race; hold a heart yet know not lovers face.’

I speak not now of the grandeur past. No use to count now what did not last.’ I keep a lamp lit in chest of mine; in two hundred years we sapped its shine.

The guard of Harem is the mason of fane; his faith is dead, eyes set on others lane. From his winking eyes it can be seen; he is despaired of all godsend means.

From this poor man’s flame, sitting on his way; bid him fiery conscience, the least I say. Kindle his heart for a-long-lasting light; from man’s hopes his hopes be more bright.

Like gallants I fall and rise again; what a blood I shed sans sword-and cane. On every ones terrace now leans thy look; for which a constant war I have to brook.

Let me sob and sigh in a lone retreat; how fine the Yasrib lines with no joint seat. How odd a college looks to pub of thrill; tell me is this better or that one still.

I fly in the airy lovelier space; my wings are getting wet from clouds I face. I found in my conscience the Harem’s mould; since on my conscience that song had a hold.

Of secret I’told, they paid no heed; they ate no fruits of vintage they need. O nation’s chief do a justice to me; as a writer of odes my friends call me.

To stick it to bosom this verse aims not; with gems of meanings I open the knot. With hope my passion would make it gold; I temper their cuprum* with heats manifold. (*Cuprum; copper, here it means personality and thinking.)

You bid me for a theme on bliss life long; on a dead ear sound a cheerful song. Those uncouth put me in a poet’s hat; to write a death date of this man or that.

My face looks saffron from arcane* pain; the blood looks oozing from red eyes veins. The speech chokes throat and forms a knot; I can’t speak though you know my lot.** * Arcane; hidden, known to chosen only; sec esoterics; hidden signs known by the few chosen (in mysticism). **Here Iqbal is picturising a phase of direct link of one’s heart with God, while talking in esoterics.

The meek utter hence of yonder glance; thus the ruthful dwell on sob’s parlance. We keep eyes ope and seal the lips; in mystics code speech is a slip.

Those who knew not I preached them ego; for them I e’er caused my fonts to flow. Bid me burning voice with whose sole flame; all griefs are burnt save thy love’s sole aim.

What I hold in heart is grief and remorse. Save thee I have no access and source. My grief’s inner tale to whom I can tell, You know in my bosom you only dwell.

A poor, ruthfull flutist who taught love’s tone; is melting himself in heat of songs own. You know what he seeks and what he wants; yet he needs not both the worlds in grant. Flutist: in Iqbal’s own terminology it means poet.

I seek not my vigour* from morning air; from thy Sun’s boon I seek my growth and care. My glance goes higher than stars and moon; I write not verses for some one’s boon. * moist and colour, lustre, beauty, freshness and form, as such vigour covers this sense.

I’am in a sea which has no coast side; this heart is the lover’s path and guide. For thy sake at Mecca a halt I make; if not my journey was for thy sake.

Drive not from door who are longing for thee; we are getting restive from thy flame’s glee.* So bid what ye wish, for patience ask, not; two hundred miles from it, the heart has brought. * Iqbal has taken the idea from a couplet of Sheikh Saa’di and formed his own ellipsis on it.

On idols white my heart is sweet; it melts in Tina’s* glamour’s heat. So alien to self I made of me; I sought of my ‘self’ but did not see. * Tina is a diminutive of Christina, a common name for a Christian girl, whose masculine gender is Christie, also a common name for a Christian. It was dim-cult to convey a true sense for Daeree of fane in English, being a ‘dichtomy’ of ‘masita’ means one who belongs to mosque but he is not a maulvi.

From Western taverns the wines* I take; I buy for my head a great headache. With the nobles of West I sat for days; for me the worst days of my flameless** stays. * The wines in Iqbal’s own terminology it means the culture and civilization of a nation. **Without flame of love and taste.

I seek from thy door, whatever I seek; bid a grass leaf* to peel a ‘Mountain’s’** peak. To me logic gave a headache great; but a glance changed all over my fate. * A poor man. **A big power.

With ‘mullah’ or ‘Sufi’ I do not sit; with this or that, you know I dont fit. Thus write the word Allah on my heart’s slate, to see ‘Him’ and Self in a lucent state.

The ‘mullah’ never knows the pangs of grief; no tears ever flow in his eyes and belief; From his School of quacks I took to my heels; the sounds of desert chants* his dust can’t feel. * Here it means the sound of a chant of the caravans going to Holy land.

On pulpit his address a venom of bile; in arms, hundred books to cover his wile. In thy ‘own House’ I talk not in shame; by himself though hid I feel His flame.

The heart of lucent hearts he took or I? Thy message of love did he brought or I? Two shafts of Deen’s quiver are ‘mullah’ and I; who took the right aim: did ‘mullah’ or I.

An alien I am within my own race’ to whom I should take the ‘Issues’ I face. Those hidden pricks I fear to disclose; I tell not my griefs to heart, though close.* * Iqbal feels that none is the friend of a man in this world save ‘Allah’ alone.

For any one’s boon this heart owes not; with my own hand I opened each tough knot. I banked on else once save Allah’s grace; I fell hundred times from self’s high place.

My craze still feels the same burning phase; all the old passions are still ablaze. From impact of old storms which I feel still; the waves of my pearls* get a new storm’s thrill. * Pearls (gauhar) in Persian also means intrinsic qualities (of a man) in figurative sense.

This dust still feels His living flame; to midnight sighs, the heart still claims. Cast Thy vision’s light so that I may see; though old I have courage to bear this glee.

My glance looks not the world’s hollow game; the heart is melting from inner flame. I am in this world which lacks any flame; tell me after all what the secret game is?

I have been born in a flameless* age; in me nature kept a fire ablaze. The life in my neck is like a thread; say they are tighting this thread in my head.** * It means faithless. ** Iqbal says Say they are dragging me on cross, (is the literal translation) viz, to kill me. Here he is asking the Prophet to tell this state to God as a passionate appeal of a lover.

The ‘rose and poppy’* lack my ‘scent and shade.** All yearnings have died in a bosom fade. In words, the grief hidden cannot contain; if so, what to say, to whom to explain? * An allusion, to members of his race. **It means my message. In his last days this thought was always pinching his heart that his nation treats him only as a poet. As such she is paying no attention to his message. As a last resort this lover of the Prophet is making this appeal to the Holy Prophet, which no doubt is the Qibla and Kaa’ba of each Muslim, against a background of the Political affairs between 1927-37.

So alien I am in West and East; no confidants true I have the least. To heart I’m telling my sorrowful mood; to cheat my solitude, like child I brood.* * This is Iqbal’s soliloquy to himself, when he is feeling himself alone without alter egos (friends) to have a tete-a-tete talk. Here alien means lonely.

I broke the magic of the modern age; I pounced on the grains and broke the trap cage. The God knows that in the Abram’s wake; how fearless I sat in that fire’s stake.* * A post to which a person was tied in olden days before being burned to death as a punishment for heresy.

You have lit up my eyes with an insight; to thee owes hence, the Lailah’s light. Bring a Dawn for me, with Thy Vision’s Scene; my night gets thy light, like moonlight sheen.* * The origin of the Prophet’s being owes to the light (noor) of God. Noor means ‘Shine and Sheen’, fire in the distance bloom, blossom, light, God’s enlightenment. Thus every Prophet has a peculiar ‘floor’ of Allah which can he seen from earth to heaven when God wishes so. There is a Hadith of Allah’s Prophet whosoever saw me he saw the Almighty.

When I pressed myself in my own embrace; then I saw my place with thy light’s grace. In this fane old with the morning tears mere; a world of love and daze lo I cause here.* * At initiation stage some times a hug of the seeker with his guide becomes a turning point of one’s own life.

The world has charms like paradise true; my tears give a moist to the shoots too. She lacks to her part that cry and hue; she’s looking for a man for guidance true.* * The nation is not in a position to cause a revolution in this world. She is too weak for any important activity (for a cataclysmic change).

Bid him O lord! A holy man’s lead; who is proud of his ‘home made wine’s need.* Like Hyder, the Lion whose arms are strong; for both world’s wealth he would never long. * Home made wine In Iqbal’s own terminology this term applies to Islamic traditions, culture and civilization.

Move around O bearer! The wine cup’s course; from wine give the flute further burning force. Bid me a heart in the bosom of mine; who can take tussels with the Kaisers line.

For the world of love the fount is thee; Thy old wine gives a constant glee. The Gabe but told only one thing to me; that he is a drop while you are a sea.* * In line 4 Iqbal used mirror against which I have written moon since function of both is the same viz, reflection of light.

To me this burning a boon of thy glow; Thy font’s wine is waving in my vine so. In shame the Join’s realm to my content bows; with thee as my heart had tete-a-tete close.

This heart, I tied not with aught in this fane; I lost self’s place in my own eye’s pane. Now he is looking for my ‘bows’ today; on whom I was ruling just the last day.

Grow that poppy* from the dust of mine; whose blood is dripping from my heart’s line. This heart be received as a favour great; I have no fine offer than heart in plate. * Here poppy mean a lover’s heart in Iqbal’s own terminology which he wants to present to his beloved in a plate.

To my shining race I would love to groan; with new melting thought full of moaning tone. The etiquette calls for a brief parlance; I groan, making tones and wish a rest hence.

For the sake of truth of my free lance tone; for the sake of my sighs impatient groan. For them I pray for clouds of vernal rain; who made a best use of my fruits and grains.

I hold a heart in hand find not a beau; a treasure I have but no robbers Lo; I pray thee to make in my heart a place; how much lonely I am there is no case.

Like Rumi I raised His call in Harem whole; from whom I learnt secret knowledge of soul. He passed through the crises of his time; I am going too through crisis and crime.

Raise a garden new from dust of mine; mix a poppy’s blood to my tears shine. If I’m not fit for Hyder’s sword and lance; as sharp as his lance give me a glance.

A Muslim is resting from coast to coast; on self he lost hopes, is shy of sea most. Save this poor soul a pathos who keeps; who sees hidden wounds* when his heart weeps. * Here it means who has seen (the wounds of a Muslim?)

Who told him I smell thee ‘under the rose’; to give him good news of a spring tide close. When I saw not in him thy old flame’s blaze; with a new spark I set his caneswood ablaze.* * Here Iqbal is addressing the Holy Prophet, ‘I have given them (my nation) a new hope to receive the Prophet’s flame of love inspite of the fact that She is passing though a process of decline, I have told them not to be disappointed.’

From thy own main give pearls to my rill; my gems to each door, each land and hill. That gale did not ope my heart’s shut door; bid a verve anew and a gale more.* * Basic thought (A lover is never satisfied with one glance of the beloved. As such the poet – the lover is craving for more and more, a new glimpse ever.

In a gathering see my flute’s tones sweet; and self-melting phase1 in a lone retreat. I learnt the Faqr’s’ path from fore-father’s trait; to care not ever for any king great.

I kept beaming face in this or that case; I raised the old veils from the meaning face. At such a high pitch to craves I brought; that one breath I had the other had not.* * Here craves means verve; excitement.

I have shared the poppy’s* flame and pain; to conscience of life I woke up again. I know not whom I taught a zealous tone**, as I was alone, and harping alone. * Poppy; each man of the nation. **A lamentation on the apathy of young race.

With thy light alone I lit up my glance; I make a peep through the sun and moon hence. Saying I’m Muslim I shudder with shame; I know the hard task of Lailah’s name.

I need in thy land just a melting sigh; to me this is first and last aim to die. Ho! The daring sot who said to Gods Grace; I need from Thee only Mustafa’s face.