Come to set right the task of this race, to play life’s gamble with manly grace. To weep in City mosque with such deep groans, that it melts the Mullah with our moans.

The Qalandar is a bold hawk of sky, a heavy weight to him so light like fly. To him his hunting ground the whole blue space, on dust he makes never his aery’s base. (Qalandar; A Muslim sect of Faqirs (mendicants) who shave off the head and beard and abandon all worldly allurements, friends and relatives, travel from place to place, worshipping one God (now extinct). In this quatrain Iqbal expresses desire to create a Qalandar’s grace who paves little heed to this material life and its allurements.)

When the Allah Hoo’s tick did hit my soul, I dusted the clothes’ of the cosmos whole. Hold the violin quick as the chords so soon, are loosing my grip by quill’s burning tune. (Allah Hoo; is a hit of ‘Asbat’ or affirmation (of Allah) which takes a man to Baqa-billah (to become immortal in God’s presence); in the wake of Hazrat Mujaddad Alf Sani of Sarhand (Patiala State, in India). From Nafi (negation of gods) Iqbal flies higher to Asbat direct in wake of Sheikh Ahmad Sarhandi.)

In the heart of nature like tears I groan, till I got in her eyes a place by moans. On nature’s eyelash my shine could be seen. I fall seldom thus on leaves of grass green. I am not such an ordinary thing which you can see on a grass leaf. (See me in nature’s heart and eye)

In logic I feel a smell of raws, its pleas and reasons are full of flaws. To me the shut doors are opened soon; from a verse of Rumi or Jami’s croon.

Come and take from me that old wine’s bowl,* which gives the dust of bowl** quite a new soul; If you water this poppy from my can, a branch*** will grow to the size of a man. *Means the lover’s way. **A hint or allusion to the lover’s heart. ***If you would learn some knowledgeable things from me, the branch (an individual) of this poppy may be six feet long against its usual length of one foot.)

The same old harp I hold in my hand, in which are hidden tunes of that land. With the lions claw, that harp I play, whose chords are made of rocky clay. Iqbal wishes to infuse a spirit of jingoistic chauvinism in his nation as such he uses such symbols like rocky chords and rocky veins in his poetry. Such constructions are not used in the English language.)

To tyrants of this age I would thus say an axe I use not in the Farhad’s way. From the prick of thorn I cherish in heart, a mountain’s heart too could be torn apart.

A poor I am whose asset is glance, a mountain to friends, to me a grass hence. Listen this point that a vulture to me is better than a hawk tied on king’s knee. A mountain to friends means viz, to whom my friends consider mountain due to his wealth and worldly pomp and show.)

My heart’s door I shut not to any one, with kiths and kins I break links none. I made my cottage in my bosom own, and passed my days with a happy tone.

No pomp and show I have in this globe; nor destined to me a crest or robe. As the garden’s foe the florist* dubbed me, since I gave to ‘nargis’ an eye to see. The florist or gardener is an allusion to his country men or the Mullah, who dubbed the poet as an enemy of the nation because they were too loyal to the British in his opinion.

Some points were discussed by hundred wise men, like jasmine fragrance the talks gave a ken. Who was that speaker and wise man great, from a thorn1 who told the Garden’s state. A thorn: a Muslim who was treated like a thorn by rulers and his country men. Could be Mullah or title holder landlords who treated Iqbal like a thorn. Here Iqbal is giving a picture of events before 1937. Garden: means the nation.

The science or art points I claim not to wield, I gave a new style to poesy’s field. In caravans see, my flame and sweet pace, I gave the old riders a taste for a race.

I boast not to be a song bird1 of dawn; I know not any thing save wails long drawn. Leave not as such what I gave to thee, from my cottage take the Garden’s Key. (Cottage: Nest. Garden’s Key: Iqbal’s symbol for an inspired communication.)

This world is a path to my eyes and sense; none shares my journey in a thousand hence. I saved my skin from scores of kith and kin; none stands in with me through thick and thin.

With nothingness learn to live with grace, raise thy worth more and keep the faqr’s face. Dive a bit deep in my song’s big main, like pearls learn to live in my storms rain. Like pearls live with ease in floods and rain storms. As a poetical licence the rainstorm has been written as storms rain.

For long I’m gaining from this dusty mart, of my place yet I feel a heavy heart. From boon of its moist I feel a life though. I never took this earth like a sky so.

You cant learn aught ‘sans’ a conscious soul, the hearts get a life from breath of man’s dole. Who guards his ego by wails and sighs, and keeps self’s honour by ruthful eyes. (Sans: French for without. Dole: Pain, grief.)

Get a self knowing eye and see thy soul, in stems hidden yet see a jasmine whole. If not like an arrow in the bow still, se aim from the archers eye and will. Since the arrow is not conscious of itself, it does not know how the bowman would use it.Here it means that your position would then be like a slave to be used at the will of the master.

The wisdom knows not the certitude eyes, its gamble of knowledge on vice path lies. Hundred Razis, Ghazalis wont equalize, to worth of a fool who holds seeing eye. Basic thought: What is certitude? What wisdom will say? Thy logic’s gamble would lead astray.

What are the clothes, gold jewels and gems? Rows of slaves handsome, and gold waist femme? Like God they ‘are free’* from both worlds needs, is this not wealth which a skill’d man** heeds. *Unconcerned. **A godly man, virtuous.

To self my wine1 gives full sense and poise, my pub since shuns all the din and noise. My wine not so fine in its first sip though, in bottom lies but a slip of past glow. My wine: My education.

For robes and turbans why you feel a bent, I have found in my ego that beauty’s scent. To me wooden life* is wealth and heart’s gloss, I carve not a wood for pulpit or cross. *A wooden fife or flute.

As soon I espied my ego’s essence, I took a lone retreat in bosom hence. From these wise blinds who have no taste, for old love’s flame I ran with haste. Ego’s essence: The hidden qualities of ego (khudi). A lone retreat in bosom: Meditations, self consciousness (viz Moraqaba). Wise blinds: Mullah and Sufi.

When I packed my self from this dusty fuss, all were saying he was so close to us. But no one ever knew this seeker’s aim, I said to them what? From where I came. This quatrain (twin couplet) was written by Iqbal a few months before his death.