Chamak teri ayaan bijli mein, aatish mein, sharare mein

Your splendor is manifest in lightning, in fire, in the spark's bright glare, Your reflection revealed in the moon, in the sun, in the distant star.

Your height in the heavens, Your lowliness in the earth's deep core, Your current in the ocean, Your stillness on the waiting shore.

Why should the Law constrain the joy of speech I can't forbear? I hide the meaning of my heart within a metaphor.

What is awake in the conscious soul sleeps a slumber deep and far, In the tree, the flower, the beast, the stone, and in the distant star.

The fire of a teardrop of love has consumed me with its flare, A terrible flame was held within that water's tiny glare.

I do not seek the currency of heaven's promised share, I am the merchant who has found his profit in despair.

To be a stranger to all peace is its essential care, O Lord, what restless heart makes quicksilver its very lair?

Since hearing that Voice which denied the sight, O Iqbal, I forbear, What power have demands in one so stricken by despair?