China and Arabia are ours, India is also ours; we are Muslims, whole world is homeland of ours.

The trust of Divine Unity is in the breasts of ours; it is not easy to destroy the identity of ours.

Among the world’s temples that first House of God; we are its sentinels, it is the sentinel of ours.

We have been brought up under the shade of swords; the crescent’s dagger is the national insignia of ours.

Our Adhan echoed in the valleys of the West; none could stop the advancing flood of ours.

We cannot be bowed down by falsehood, O sky! Hundreds of times you have done tests of ours.

O garden of Andalus! Do you remember the days when your branches harbored the nest of ours?

O wave of the Tigris! You also recognize us; your river still recites the stories of ours.

O Holy Land! For your honor we fought to the bitter end; still flowing in your veins is the blood of ours.

The Hijaz’s Chief is the commander of our caravan; this name preserves solace of the hearts of ours.

This anthem of Iqbal is the clarion’s* call so to say; again prepares for the journey the caravan of ours. * This is also a subtle reference to his book Bang-i-Dara which contains material for the rejuvenation and renaissance of world Muslims.)