Har nafas Iqbal tera aah mein mastoor hai

The Muslim

Iqbal, every breath of yours is veiled in your laments, Your burning breast is filled with cries.

The song of hope is not in the lyre of your heart; This Layla, we think, your caravan does not hold.

Your ear seeks only the sound of songs of the past, And your heart is heedless of the tumult of today.

Your fellow songbirds in the garden do not hear the rose's tale; The people of this gathering do not heed your ancient message.

O bell of a slumbering caravan, be silent! Your voice is a breeder of despair, be silent!

That bygone assembly can never live again; The night of yesterday cannot be lit by a candle's flame.

Companion! I am a Muslim, the bearer of the standard of Oneness; To this truth, I have been a just witness since eternity began.

From it, warmth is born in the pulse of all existence; From it, daring is born in the Muslim's imagination.

God created the universe for the sake of this truth, And He created me for the sake of its protection.

In this age, I became the destroyer of false worship; In truth, it is I who guards the sanctity of Being.

My existence is the robe for the world's nakedness; For me to vanish is for all humanity to be shamed.

The Muslim is the radiant star of the world's destiny; Whose brilliance puts the sorcery of the dawn to shame.

The mysteries of life are laid bare before my eyes; You cannot call me one who despairs of life's great struggle.

How can this fleeting spectacle of sorrow frighten me? I have faith in the destiny of my Community.

My world is free from the element of despair; The battle's righteous fervor proclaims a perfect victory.

Yes, it is true, my gaze is fixed upon a bygone age; To the people of this gathering, I tell an ancient tale.

The memory of that bygone age is an elixir for my dust; My past is the very scripture of my future.

I keep that joyous, uplifting era before me; I see tomorrow in the mirror of yesterday.

Again, hearts will remember the message of prostration; Again, from a forehead on the dust, beauty will be born.

From a hidden tumult, I will be born again on the river's shore, Carrying in the wave's embrace a hundred splendors of the storm.