To Visit the Friend is to Visit God

 

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

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بخش ۴۹ - وحی کردن حق تعالی به موسی علیه السلام کی چرا به عیادت من نیامدی

Mawlānā — Masnavī-ye Ma‘navī — Book Two
Section 49: God Most High Reveals to Moses (peace be upon him): “Why did you not come to visit Me?”

آمَد از حَقّ سُوْیِ مُوسَی این عِتاب

کای طُلوعِ ماه دیده، تو زِ جِیب  

Translation: 
A rebuke came from the Divine to Moses:
“O you whose eyes have beheld the rising moon from the hem (of the Unseen)!”

Explanation: 

God addresses Moses with affection and grandeur, reminding him of the privilege of witnessing divine glory—ṭulūʿ-i māh is a metaphor for spiritual illumination, the “moon” rising from the unseen hem of reality (jīb). Yet the praise is the prelude to correction.

 

مَشرِقَت کَردَم زِ نُورِ ایزَدی

 

مَن حَقّم، رَنجور گَشْتَم، نامَدِی

Translation: 

“I made you shine with the light of Divinity,
Yet I, the Truth, have fallen ill—and you did not come.”

Explanation: 

The paradox is deliberate: God, al-Ḥaqq, says “I have fallen ill.” This is the language of divine intimacy, hinting at the ḥadīth qudsī: “I was sick, and you did not visit Me,” where God identifies with the condition of His servant.

گُفت: سُبحانَا! تو پاکی از زِیان

 

این چه رَمز است؟ این بُکُن، یا رَبّ، بَیان

Translation: 

Moses said, “Glory be to You! You are far above all harm.
What mystery is this? Reveal it to me, my Lord.”

Explanation: 

Moses’ theological instinct protests—God is free from defect. The Prophet seeks to understand the ramz (hidden sign) behind such words. Rumi is careful to show that questioning God here is not doubt, but the seeking of wisdom

 

باز فَرمودَش که: در رَنجوریم

 

چون نَپُرسیدِی تو از رویِ کَرَم

Translation: 

The Divine replied again: “I am in affliction,
Because you did not inquire after Me in kindness

Explanation: 

The Divine brings the rebuke into focus: Moses’ lapse was a failure of compassion—he did not check on one in distress. The “I” is still veiled; the full identification will follow.

گُفت: یا رَبّ! نیست نُقصانی تو را

 

عَقل گُم شُد، این سُخُن را بَرگُشا

Translation:  

Moses said, “My Lord, You suffer no deficiency.
My reason falters—unfold this saying for me.”

Explanation: 

Even after repetition, the mystery remains: how can the Perfect say “I am ill”? Moses acknowledges his bewilderment and asks for disclosure—a key Sufi posture: ʿaql yields to kashf (unveiling).

گُفت: آری، بَندهٔ خاصِّ گُزین

 

گَشت رَنجور، او مَنَم، نیکو بُبین

Translation: 

God said, “Yes—one of My specially chosen servants
Has fallen ill. That servant is Me—look carefully and see.”

Explanation: 

Here the veil lifts: to wound a friend of God is to wound God; to comfort him is to comfort God. The saint is the locus (maẓhar) of divine presence.

هَست مَعذوریش مَعذوریِ مَن

 

هَست رَنجوریش رَنجوریِ مَن

Translation:  

“His feeling weak is My weakness;
His sickness is My sickness.”

Explanation: 

This is radical empathy: God fully identifies with His saint’s state. In Sufi theology, walāyah (sainthood) is a form of divine self-disclosure—honor or neglect of the saint is honor or neglect of God.

 

   

هَر که خواهد هَمنِشینیِ خُدا

 

تا نَشینَد در حُضورِ اَولِیا

Translation: 

“Whoever wishes to sit in the company of God
Must sit in the presence of His friends.”

Explanation: 

The practical conclusion: God’s companionship is accessed through the company of His awliyāʾ. This is an echo of prophetic tradition: “The saints of God are those who, when seen, remind you of God.”

  

از حُضورِ اَولِیا گر بَسکَلی

 

تو هَلاکِی، زانک جُزوی بی‌ کُلِّی

Translation: 

“If you turn away from the presence of the saints,
You are ruined, for you are a part cut off from the Whole.”

Explanation: 

The metaphor of part and whole (juzw/kull) frames spiritual community as an organism: to sever from it is to perish.

هَر که را دیو از کَرِیمان وا بَرَد

 

بی‌کَسَش یابَد، سَرَش را او خُوَرَد

Translation: 
“Whoever the demon draws away from the generous ones
Is left forsaken—and the demon devours his head.”

Explanation: 

Isolation from the spiritually generous leaves the seeker prey to destructive forces (dīv), here imagined with the stark image of head-devouring—total ruin.

 

یَک بَدَست از جَمع رَفتن یَک زَمان

 

مَکرِ دیو است، بَشنَو و نیکو بُدان

Translation: 

“To withdraw even for a moment from the assembly of the devoted—
That is the demon’s trick; hear this and understand well.”

Explanation: 

Rumi ends with a sharp warning: separation from the circle of God’s friends, even briefly, is spiritual danger. The counsel is both mystical (about presence) and practical (about solidarity).

Thematic takeaway

Rumi reframes compassion as a mystical covenant: visiting the sick, aiding the distressed, keeping company with the righteous—all are direct encounters with God. The parable binds theology and ethics: the saint’s body becomes the theater of divine presence, and community with the awliyāʾ becomes the very “company of God.”    

Iqbal’s Ideal Human:The Star that Lights Two Worlds

 

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

اقبالِ لاهوری 

 » ارمغان حجاز »
بخش ۳۰۸ - سحرها در گریبان شب اوست

Iqbal  — Gift of the Hijaz
Section 308: “The dawns are tucked into the collar of his night”

 

Armaghān-e Ḥijāz is Iqbal’s last Persian work, compact and contemplative. In this brief four-line portrait, he sketches the mard-e ḥaqq—the God-oriented person—through tight images and antithesis: dawn tucked in night, two worlds lit by one star, and a smile at death. The voice is confident and spare; the theology is Qur’anic: serenity born of certainty (cf. nafs al-muṭmaʾinnah, Q 89:27-30).

 

 

سَحَرها دَر گِریبانِ شَبِ اوست

 

دُو گِیتی را فُروغ اَز کَوکَبِ اوست

Translation: 

The dawns are tucked into the collar of his night.
Both worlds take their radiance from his star.

Explanation: 

Iqbal compresses a paradox: the friend of God carries sahar inside shab—even his darkness shelters daybreak. Trials do not extinguish him; they incubate light. The second hemistich widens the frame from the person to both worlds (this life and the next): his “star”—faith-fast character—becomes guidance across horizons. The imagery blends ethics with cosmology: an inner lamp that steadies conduct here and orients hope hereafter.

 

نِشانِ مَردِ حَق دِگَر چه گویم؟

چُو مَرگ آید، تَبَسُّم بَر لَبِ اوست

Translation: 

What more can I say of the sign of the true man of God?
When death comes, a smile rests upon his lips.

Explanation: 

The rhetorical question heightens praise before the final proof: a calm smile at death. This is not bravado; it is riḍā (contentment) and yaqīn (certainty). For one whose heart bows only to the One, the last threshold is meeting, not loss—ḥusn al-khātimah (a beautiful closing). Iqbal’s measure of sanctity is practical: courage at the edge, cheer in surrender, and a life that has already made night carry its own dawn.

From Obedience to Vicegerence: Iqbal’s Threefold Training of the Self

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

اقبالِ لاهوری – اسرارِ خُودی
بخشِ یازدَهُم:
دَر بَیانِ این‌کِه تَربِیَتِ خُودی را سِه مَراحِل اَست؛ مَرحَلَه‌ِی أَوَّل را اِطاعَت، وَ مَرحَلَه‌ِی دُوُّم را ضَبطِ نَفس، وَ مَرحَلَه‌ِی سِوُم را نِیابَتِ إِلٰهی نامیده‌اَند.

Iqbal – The Secrets of the Self
Section Eleven: Explaining that the development of the self (khudī) has three stages:
The first stage is called obedience (ṭā‘at),
The second stage is called self-discipline (ẓabt-i nafs),
And the third stage is called Divine vicegerency (niyābat-i ilāhī).

This poem comes from Asrār-i Khudī (“The Secrets of the Self”),  was Iqbal's first philosophical poetry book - published in 1915. Written in the classical tradition of didactic Sufi poetry (inspired by Rūmī and Ḥakīm Sanā’ī), the work outlines Iqbal’s philosophy of the self (khudī) as a spiritual force to be actualized, not denied.

In this eleventh section, Iqbal outlines a three-stage process of self-development, grounded in Qur’anic and philosophical principles:

1. Ṭā‘at (Obedience): The individual begins by submitting to divine commandments and moral law. This is the necessary first discipline.

2. Ẓabt-i Nafs (Self-Control): The second stage involves mastery over desire, ego, and impulse.

3. Niyābat-i Ilāhī (Divine Vicegerency): The culmination is to become a conscious khalīfah—a vicegerent of God on earth—who shapes the world ethically and spiritually.

The poem that follows elaborates on stage one: obedience, using the metaphor of the camel—a symbol of service, resilience, and spiritual discipline. The metaphor expands into deeper theological and existential themes, building toward the idea of active transformation of the self and society.

Iqbal frames these verses not merely as moral instruction but as a vision for the formation of the modern Muslim self—rooted in love, law, and divine purpose.

 مَرحَلَه‌ِی أَوَّل: اِطاعَت

“The First Stage: Obedience” 

خِدمَت وَ مِحنَت شِعارِ اُشتُر اَست

صَبر وَ اِستِقلال کارِ اُشتُر اَست

Translation: 

Service and hardship are the camel's emblem;
Patience and steadfastness are the camel's task.

Explanation: 

Iqbal begins by using the camel as a metaphor for the ideal seeker or servant. The camel—known for endurance, burden-bearing, and discipline in the desert—embodies the moral qualities of khidmat (service), mihnat (toil), sabr (patience), and istiqlāl (independence or perseverance). This sets the spiritual tone: the path of truth requires quiet, steady resilience, not loud assertion.

 

گامِ اُو دَر راه، کَم غَوغـا سِتی

کاروان را زورَقِ صَحرا سِتی

Translation: 

Its step on the path is without tumult or noise—
It is the ship of the desert for the caravan.

Explanation: 

The camel walks silently, efficiently—not seeking attention, unlike empty showmen. Yet it carries the whole caravan across the desert—essential yet humble. Iqbal contrasts outward silence with inward power and service—a trait of the spiritually awakened.

نَـقشِ پـایَش قِسمَتِ هَر بیشِـه‌ئـی

کَـم خُـور وَ کَـم خُـواب وَ مِحنَـت پیشَـه‌ئـی

Translation: 

Its footprints are the destiny of every desolate place—
It eats little, sleeps little, and lives a life of hardship.

Explanation: 

Wherever the camel goes, it leaves a trail—a blessing even for desolate places (بیشه here used symbolically). Its ascetic lifestyle—frugal, tireless—symbolizes a saint or servant who lives simply, yet leaves behind guidance and hope. Iqbal praises this minimalism and spiritual productivity.

مَست زیرِ بارِ مَحمِل می‌رَوَد

پای‌کوبان سُویِ مَنزِل می‌رَوَد

Translation: 

Ecstatic, it walks beneath the burdened litter—
Beating its feet, it journeys toward the destination.

Explanation: 

Despite the weight, the camel moves with joyful resolve—even ecstasy. The word “mast” suggests a spiritual drunkenness—a state of surrender and love for the goal. Iqbal celebrates the one who carries life’s burdens with joy, seeing the destination (manzil) beyond the hardship.

سَرخُوش اَز کَیفِیَّتِ رَفتارِ خویش

دَر سَفَر، صابِر تَر اَز اَسوَارِ خویش

Translation: 

Pleased with the nature of its own stride,
In the journey, it is ever more patient than its rider.

Explanation: 

The camel doesn't complain or falter—it even surpasses its rider in patience. Iqbal highlights the spiritual truth that the disciplined self (nafs-i-muṭmaʾinna), the true traveler is content with the path, not fixated on arrival.

تو هَم اَز بارِ فَرائِض سَر مَتاب

بَرخُوری اَز «عِندَهُ حُسنُ المَآب»

Translation: 

You too—do not turn away from the burden of obligations,
So that you may partake in “With Him is the best of ends.” (Qur’an 38:25)

Explanation: 

Iqbal turns the metaphor to the human seeker: do not abandon your fara’iḍ (obligations)—religious and moral. The promise of ḥusn al-maʾāb (a beautiful return) is Qur'anic and spiritual: ultimate reward lies in enduring responsibility with love and discipline.

دَر اِطاعَت کوش، ای غَفلَت شِعار

می‌شود اَز جَبر، پیدا اِختیار

Translation: 

Strive in obedience, O you whose emblem is heedlessness—
From what appears as compulsion, free will emerges.

Explanation: 

Iqbal addresses the heedless self: wake up and obey. Through disciplined action, even what feels forced (jabr) leads to true freedom (ikhtiyār). This is a spiritual paradox: through submission, you arrive at autonomy—a central idea echoing Islamic metaphysics as proposed by Iqbal.

ناکَس اَز فَرمـان‌پَذیری، کَس شَوَد

آتَش اَر باشد، زِ طُغیان، خَس شَوَد

Translation: 

Even a base one becomes worthy through obedience—
Majestic flames, if exceed their bounds in rebellion, become mere chaff.

Explanation: 

Here, Iqbal reaffirms the power of obedience to a higher order. A nākas (incompetent or base or lowly one) can become noble through discipline, while fiery talent, if rebellious and unrestrained, reduces to nothing (khass – dry straw).  If a blazing fire becomes طُغیان (ṭughyān, rebellion, transgression, unboundedness), it loses its creative or illuminating function. Instead of being harnessed to purify, illuminate, or cook—it becomes wild, chaotic, and ultimately burns itself out, leaving behind nothing of value.He critiques egoistic revolt as destructive vanity.

هَر که تَسخیرِ مَه وَ پَروین کُنَد

خُویش را زَنجیریِ آئین کُنَد

Translation: 

Whoever conquers the moon and the Pleiades—
Must bind himself with the chain of Divine law.

Explanation: 

Scientific or cosmic conquest (symbolized by mah o parvīn) is not enough. Real greatness lies in self-discipline and submission to divine principles (ā’īn). For Iqbal, spiritual law is not limitation—it is the chain that gives strength and direction, unlike the chaos of ego-led “freedom.”

باد را زِندانیِ گُلِ خُوشبُو کُنَد

قَیدِ بو را نافِه‌ی آهو کُنَد

Translation: 

It is the fragrant flower that imprisons the breeze—
It is the musk-pod that binds the scent.

Explanation: 

Iqbal completes this section with a beautiful metaphor: even wind (symbol of freedom) becomes imprisoned by form with meaning—fragrance bound to a flower, or scent to musk. True freedom, he implies, requires form, restraint, and purpose. Otherwise, like scent without a source, it vanishes.

می‌زَنَد اَختَر سُو‌یِ مَنزِل قَدَم

پیشِ آئینی سَر تَسلیم خَم

Translation: 

The star strides toward its destination,
Bowing its head in submission to divine law.

Explanation: 

The Persian word اَختَر (akhtar) carries a constellation of meanings—pun fully intended. It’s a rich term used in astronomy, poetry, mysticism, and even astrology, often layered with metaphor. The most common usage is a celestial object or star. Iqbal personifies the celestial star (akhtar) as journeying with purpose, yet submissive to an ordained path—a metaphor for the spiritually guided being. Even heavenly bodies follow divine laws; true greatness is in conscious submission, not in arrogant autonomy.

سَـبـزِه بَر دینِ نُـمُـو رُوئـیـدَه‌ اَسـت

پـایـمال اَز تَـرکِ آن گَردیدَه‌ اَسـت

Translation: 

Grass grows by the law of growth (nomū);
When that is abandoned, it is trampled underfoot.

Explanation: 

The word نُـمُـو (nomū) is both a philosophical and practical term with layers of meaning, depending on context. It's derived from نَمو کردن meaning to grow, and while it may appear simple at first glance, it is often used in rich and nuanced ways in Persian literature, philosophy, and mystical thought. Iqbal refers to natural law of growth—order that gives rise to flourishing. In the spiritual world, too, growth requires law. If that inner or outer discipline is abandoned, the soul (like grass) is crushed and wasted. Life without divine order becomes fragile and disposable.

لالِه پِیـهَـم سوختَن قـانونِ او

بَـر جُـهِـد اَندَر رَگِ او خـونِ او

Translation: 

The tulip’s law is to burn again and again—
Its own blood leaps forth within its veins.

Explanation: 

Poets often use the tulip (lāleh) as a symbol of martyrdom, passion, blood, and self-sacrifice. Its governing law is repeated burning—representing inner struggle, self-sacrifice and spiritual intensity. The tulip's red flame-like color is from its own blood stirred by passion, not from borrowed aesthetics. It represents a self-ignited soul.

قَطره‌ها دَریاست اَز آئینِ وَصل

ذَره‌ها صَحراء است اَز آئینِ وَصلو

Translation: 

By the law of union, drops become the ocean—
By the law of union, particles become a desert.

Explanation: 

Iqbal glorifies unity (wasl)—spiritual and cosmic. A single drop, when united by law, becomes ocean; a dust particle, by association and coherence, becomes vast desert. Discipline, love, and unity elevate the insignificant to grandeur. Individuality must be harmonized, not isolated.

باطِنِ هَر شَیء زِ آئینی قَوی

تو چِرا غافِل زِ ا‌ین سامان رَوِی؟

Translation: 

The essence of every thing is strengthened by a constitution—
Why then are you heedless of this structure and path?

Explanation: 

Iqbal reminds the reader that everything in creation has an inner law, a cosmic rhythm or divine structure that grants it power. If even inanimate things possess such order, how can the human soul ignore it? He criticizes heedlessness and disconnection from the divine order (sāmān). The term figuratively implies the orderly arrangement of things, internally or externally. A person  سامان دارد is someone whose life is in order.

باز، ای آزاد! دَستورِ قَدیم

زِینَتِ پا کُن هَمـان زَنجیرِ سیم

Translation: 

Return, O Free One, to the ancient code—
Adorn your feet again with the silver chain.

Explanation: 

The address is to the "freed modern man"—deluded by false liberty. Iqbal urges a return to the old Divine law (dastūr-e qadīm), which he portrays not as imprisonment but as adornment—a silver chain that gives dignity and direction. Real freedom lies in submitting to higher truth.

شِکوِه سَنجِ سَختیِ آئین مَشَو

اَز حُدودِ مُصطَفٰی بیرون مَرَو

Translation: 

Do not measure the Law by its hardships—
Do not step outside the bounds of Mustafa (the Prophet).

Explanation: 

Iqbal admonishes the seeker not to evaluate the Shari‘ah based on difficulty. What seems hard may lead to the highest joy. “Hudūd-e-Mustafā” refers to the boundaries set by the Prophet ﷺ—Iqbal sees them as the framework of cosmic and moral truth, not constraints but guides.

 

مَرحَلِه‌ی دوم: ضَبطِ نَفْس  

“The Second Stage: Self-Control” 

Explanation:
This is Iqbal’s direct instructional marker. The journey has moved into its second phase: ẓabt-i-nafs—the discipline and mastery over the ego/self. It signals a shift in the poem from outer obedience to inner struggle, mirroring classical Sufi tarīqah stages.

نَفْسِ تو مِثلِ اُشتُرِ خُود پَروَر اَست

خُود پَرَست وَ خُود سَوار وَ خُود سَر اَست

Translation: 

Your self is like a self-indulgent camel—
Self-worshipping, self-riding, and self-willed.

Explanation: 

Here the camel becomes a negative metaphor—now representing the untamed nafs (ego/self). A camel that has been raised without discipline—obstinate, self-adoring, and ungoverned. This is not the noble camel of the earlier poem, but one that represents the unchecked ego. He critiques autonomy without spiritual restraint. narcissistic, independent, unwilling to follow. It rides itself, feeds itself, and worships itself. Iqbal diagnoses the modern soul: consumed by ego, it becomes spiritually useless, though physically strong. 

مَرد شو، آوَر زِمامِ او بِکَف

تا شَوِی گوهر، اَگَر باشی خَزَف

Translation: 

Be a man! Take its reins in your hand—
So you may become a jewel, even if you are (but) a shard.

Explanation: 

Iqbal calls for courage and self-discipline: the only path from khaẓaf (shard) to gawhar (jewel) is through mastery of the self. This is his central ethical call—tame your ego, and you are transformed. Even ordinary matter, under pressure and refinement, becomes precious. Transformation hinges on discipline, not origin.

هَر که بَر خُود نیست فَرمـانَش رَوان

می‌شود فَرمـان‌پَذیر اَز دیگَران

Translation: 

Whoever does not command himself—
Will be ruled by others.

Explanation: 

This couplet is central to Iqbal's philosophy of khudi (selfhood). When a person fails to master their own self (nafs), they become a slave to others' commands, forces such as society, authority, or desire. Iqbal warns that lack of inner sovereignty leads to outer subjugation for example moral, cultural, or political.

طَرحِ تَعمیرِ تو اَز گِل ریختَند

با مَحَبَّت، خَوف را آمیختَند

Translation: 

 

The plan for your creation was shaped from clay—
Where love was blended with fear.

Explanation: 

Iqbal refers to the human being’s divine design. From the earthy base (ṭīn), humans are made, but God mixed fear (khawf) with love (maḥabbat)—a Qur’anic echo (e.g., Q. 7:56 خَوْفًۭا وَطَمَعًا ۚ). Human character is formed in this tension between awe and affection, the essential spiritual drives. Together, they regulate and elevate human purpose.

خَوفِ دُنیا، خَوفِ عُقبٰی، خَوفِ جان

خَوفِ آلامِ زَمین و آسمان

Translation: 

 

Fear of the world, fear of the hereafter, fear for the soul—
Fear of the pains of earth and sky.

Explanation: 

Human life is surrounded by various anxieties—material, spiritual, existential, cosmic. Iqbal lists various types of fear that afflict the human heart: worldly loss, punishment in the afterlife, existential dread, cosmic vulnerability. But these fears, unless properly integrated with divine love, become paralyzing. He critiques fear without direction,  the totality of fear that can imprison a soul, which leads to submission and stagnation. 

حُبِ مال وَ دَولت وَ حُبِ وَطَن

حُبِ خُویش وَ اَقرَبا وَ حُبِ زَن

Translation: 

 

Love of wealth and power, and love of homeland—
Love of self, relatives, and women.

Explanation: 

Iqbal now outlines the realm of ḥubb (attachment), the flip side of fear, the natural loves, the passions and attachments that distract and enslave the soul. These are not inherently wrong, but when unregulated, they become fetters. For Iqbal, spiritual growth demands disentanglement from these lower forms of love unless they are sublimated toward God.  These become chains when they dominate the soul. He is not condemning them absolutely, but warning against their enslavement of the spirit when left unbalanced.

اِمتِزاجِ ماء وَ طین، تَن‌پَـرور اَست

کُشتِه‌ی فَحشا، هَلاکِ مُنکِر اَست

Translation: 

 

The mixture of water and clay breeds body-worship—
It is slain by vice and destroyed by denial.

Explanation: 

This refers again to the earthly nature of humans—water and clay. When this mixture dominates, it leads to tanparwari (body-worship), sensual indulgence, and disbelief (inkār). Without spiritual guidance, it succumbs to fahshāʾ (immorality) and inkār (rejection of truth), and the result is spiritual death. A body without a guided soul is doomed.

تا عَصائی «لا إله» داری بِدَست

هَر طِلِسمِ خَوف را خواهی شِکَست

Translation: 

 

As long as you hold the staff of “lā ilāha” in hand,
You will break every talisman of fear.

Explanation: 

This couplet is triumphant. Iqbal evokes Moses’ staff and the declaration of tawḥīd (“lā ilāha illā Allāh”) as tools of spiritual liberation. With this firm grasp of God's oneness, all other fears—be they political, psychological, or existential—are shattered. This is true courage born of belief. Tawḥīd (divine unity) is the antidote to all fear—it reorients the self toward divine sovereignty alone. 

هَر که حَق باشد چو جان اَندَر تَنَش

خَم نَگَردد پیشِ باطِل گَردَنَش

Translation: 

 

Whoever holds Truth within like the soul in his body—
Will never bow his neck before falsehood.

Explanation: 

When ḥaqq (truth) becomes internalized—embedded like life itself, like ruh in the body—then one cannot bow before injustice or untruth. This couplet celebrates moral steadfastness: the free man bows only before truth, never falsehood. This is not just political resistance, but ontological strength. Iqbal insists that truth must live within before it can stand without. 

خَوف را دَر سِینه‌یِ اُو راه نیست

خاطِرَش مَرهوبِ غَیرُالله نیست

Translation: 

 

Fear has no path into his chest—
His heart is awed by none but God.

Explanation: 

The muwaḥḥid, the one fully devoted to God, is unshaken by any other being. Iqbal presents this as the ideal human state: fearlessness rooted in tawḥīd, with no space in the heart for awe except for the Divine presence. Iqbal concludes this section with a vision of the perfected soul: no fear penetrates him; he fears only God (khawf-i-khuda). This is the height of spiritual liberation—echoing the Qur’anic motif: lā khawfun ʿalayhim wa-lā hum yaḥzanūn. 

هَر که دَر اِقلیمِ «لَا» آباد شُد

فارِغ از بَندِ زَن وَ اَولاد شُد

Translation: 

 

Whoever settles in the domain of “Lā” (negation)—
Becomes free from the fetters of wife and children.

Explanation: 

This “Lā” refers to lā ilāha—the first part of the shahāda. The domain of Lā is the stage of radical negation of all besides God. Iqbal doesn’t literally condemn family ties, but urges spiritual transcendence above emotional dependence. True freedom comes by detaching from worldly attachments, not destroying them. 

می‌کُنَد اَز ماسِوَى قَطعِ نَظَر

می‌نَهَد ساطور بَر حَلقِ پِسَر

Translation: 

 

He averts his gaze from all besides God—
He lays the butcher’s blade upon his son’s throat.

Explanation: 

This refers to Ibrahim’s sacrifice—the ultimate act of surrender,who turns away from mā siwā Allāh (all besides God) and offers even his son in submission to divine will. Iqbal elevates this moment as a metaphor of absolute commitment to God, where even the deepest human love (for one’s child) is subordinated to the Divine command. This is the summit of ẓabt al-nafs and full tawḥīd. 

 

با یَکی مِثْلِ هُجُومِ لَشکَر اَسْت

جان بِچَشْمِ اُو زِ باد اَرزان‌تَر اَسْت

Translation: 

 

He alone is like the charge of an army—
In his sight, life is cheaper than the wind.

Explanation: 

The true believer, filled with divine conviction, carries the force of an army. To him, life is not something to cling to, but to sacrifice for truth. Iqbal idealizes the mu’min—the powerful, selfless individual whose courage changes the world.

«لا إله» باشد صَدَف، گوهَر نَماز

قَلبِ مُسلِم را حَجِّ اَصغَر نَماز

Translation: 

 

“Lā ilāha” is the shell, and prayer is its pearl—
For the Muslim heart, prayer is the lesser pilgrimage.

Explanation: 

Iqbal presents salāh (prayer) as the spiritual realization of tawḥīd. If “lā ilāha” is the form (shell), prayer is its essence, like the pearl. He also references ḥajj al-aṣghar (minor pilgrimage), suggesting that regular prayer nears the experience of journeying to God.

 

دَر کَفِ مُسلِم مِثالِ خَنجَر اَست

قاتِلِ فَحشٰی وَ بَغی وَ مُنکَر اَست

Translation: 

 

In the Muslim’s hand, it is like a dagger—
A killer of obscenity, tyranny, and evil.

Explanation: 

Iqbal powerfully asserts that prayer, when real, is not passive ritual—it’s a an active spiritual blade against moral decay. A true Muslim's prayer slays fahshā (moral corruption), baghy (oppression), and munkar (wrong). This transforms worship from private ritual to a transformative ethical force.

 

روزِه بَر جُوع وَ عَطَش شَبخُون زَنَد

خَیبَرِ تَن‌پَروَرِی را بِشکَنَد

Translation: 

 

Fasting strikes a night raid upon hunger and thirst—

It breaks the Khaybar of indulgence in bodily comfort.

Explanation: 

Iqbal glorifies ṣawm (fasting) as spiritual warfare. It attacks the ego’s dependence on physical pleasure. “Khaybar” alludes to the fort conquered by the Prophet ﷺ—symbolizing a fortress of bodily indulgence to be overthrown. Fasting is not abstention, but revolution against materialism. Fasting purifies by attacking bodily excess and egoism.

مُؤمِنان را فِطرَت‌اَفروز اَست حَجّ

هِجرَت‌آموز وَ وَطَن‌سوز اَست حَجّ

Translation: 

 

For believers, Hajj rekindles their nature—
It teaches migration and burns attachment to homeland.

Explanation: 

Iqbal views Hajj as more than ritual—it is a spiritual reset. It awakens primordial human fitrah, and teaches hijrah (migration)—both physical and spiritual. It compels the pilgrim to abandon worldly comforts and attachments, even waṭan (homeland), in pursuit of universal brotherhood and divine proximity. "Waṭan-sūz" implies detachment from nationalism and tribalism—Iqbal critiques blind patriotism. Hajj draws the soul to the universal ummah and toward divine allegiance over geographic identity. 

  

طاعَتی سَرمایَه‌یِ جَمعیَّتی

رَبطِ اَوراقِ کِتابِ مِلَّتی

Translation: 

 

An act of worship becomes the capital of unity—
The thread that binds the pages of a nation's book.

Explanation: 

Iqbal emphasizes that collective rituals like prayer, fasting, zakāt, and Hajj are not isolated acts. They are the threads of a unified ummah, binding individuals into a living, breathing nation under divine law. Worship is both personal transformation and nation-building, and hence the infrastructure of civilization. 

حُبِّ دولت را فَنا سازَد زَکات

هَم مَساوات‌آشنا سازَد زَکات

Translation: 

 

Zakāt annihilates the love of wealth—
Zakāt also introduces one to equality.

Explanation: 

Iqbal presents zakāt as a spiritual and social equalizer, a purifier of greed and a promoter of social justice. It erodes selfish capitalism and trains the self in compassion and fairness. By giving, the soul is freed from greed, and by receiving, the poor are dignified, not humiliated. It initiates true economic justice, rooted in spiritual ethics.

 

دِل زِ «حَتّی تُنفِقُوا» مُحکَم کُنَد

زَر فَزایَد اُلفَت، زَر کَم کُنَد

Translation: 

 

It strengthens the heart through “Until you spend…”
It increases love by lessening gold.

Explanation: 

The Qur’anic verse (Āl ʿImrān 3:92) is referenced: “لَن تَنالُوا البِرَّ حَتّى تُنفِقُوا مِمّا تُحِبّونَ” (“You will not attain righteousness until you spend from what you love”). Iqbal says: giving away gold increases love—for God and for others—while hoarding weakens human connection. Zakāt is love in practice and true piety comes with giving what they love.

این هَمِه اَسبابِ اِستِحکامِ تُست

پُختَه‌یِ مُحکَم، اَگَر اِسلامِ تُست

Translation: 

 

All of these are means to your strength—
If your Islam is mature and solid.

Explanation: 

Iqbal concludes this spiritual-economic-political vision by reminding the reader: these rituals and laws are only sources of empowerment if your Islam is authentic,embraced with conviction, not ritualism—spiritually mature, not raw in faith (pukhta) and solid (muḥkam). Half-hearted observance yields no fruit; real strength comes from inner integrity.   

اَهلِ قُوَّت شو، زِ وَردِ «یا قَوِیّ»

تا سَوارِ اُشتُرِ خاکی شَوِی

Translation: 

 

Become a person of strength by chanting “Yā Qawiyy!”
So you may mount the camel of earthly life.

Explanation: 

A call to invoke God’s name—Al-Qawiyy (The Strong)—to gain real spiritual power. By cultivating divine strength, one becomes capable of mastering the earthly camel (symbolizing the body, the world, or destiny). The rider rules the animal; the seeker must ride the material, not be dragged by it. Invoking al-Qawiyy (The Strong), one of God’s Names, is both a prayer and a path.  This echoes Iqbal’s call to active, empowered spirituality rooted in divine remembrance.

  

مَرحَلِه‌ی سوُم: نِیابَتِ اِلهی 

“The Third Stage: Divine Vicegerency” 

Iqbal now introduces the final spiritual stage—Niyābat-e-Ilāhī, the Qur’anic idea that humans are God’s vicegerents (khalīfah) on earth. This is the culmination of self-discipline and worship: not withdrawal, but active stewardship and moral leadership grounded in tawḥīd. 

گَر شُتُر بانی، جَهانبانی کُنی

زِیبِ سَر تاجِ سُلَیمانی کُنی

Translation: 

 

If you can guide the camel, you can govern the world—
You will adorn your head with Solomon’s crown.

Explanation: 

Iqbal begins this stage with a powerful claim: if you master the self (symbolized by the camel), you are ready to rule the world with justice and wisdom, like Sulaiman (Solomon)—the Qur’anic symbol of divine kingship and mastery over creation. The journey from self-discipline to leadership is central to Iqbal's philosophy. 

تا جَهان باشَد، جَهان‌آرا شَوی

تاجدارِ مُلکِ «لَا یَبلٰی» شَوی

Translation: 

 

You will become the world's beautifier as long as it exists—
You will be crowned in the kingdom that never perishes.

Explanation: 

Iqbal promises that the khalīfah (vicegerent) is not a destroyer, but one who adorns, beautifies, and renews the world. The “mulk-e lā yablā” (the everlasting dominion) refers to spiritual sovereignty, not temporal power. The vicegerent lives in a state beyond decay—timeless moral leadership. 

 

نایِبِ حَق دَر جَهان بودَن خُوش اَست

بَر عَناصِر حُکم‌رَوان بودَن خُوش اَست

Translation: 

 

To be God’s deputy in the world is a joy—
To reign over the elements is a delight.

Explanation: 

The na’ib-i-ḥaqq (vicegerent of God) is not merely a moral figure, but one whose presence governs the elements—earth, fire, water, air—symbolizing mastery over nature and the self. This is not domination in a colonial sense, but harmonious rulership aligned with divine will. 

نایِبِ حَق، هَمشُبَه جانِ عالَم اَست

هَستِیِ اُو ظِلِّ اِسمِ اَعظَم اَست

Translation: 

 

God’s vicegerent is like the soul of the world—
His being is the shadow of the Supreme Name.

Explanation: 

Iqbal draws on metaphysical theology: the khalīfah is like the rūḥ (spirit) of the universe, animating and directing it. His being reflects the Ism-e-A‘ẓam (Supreme Name of God)—the highest divine reality. This line mirrors Ibn ‘Arabi’s cosmology: the Perfect Human as mirror of God. 

 

اَز رُموزِ جُزو وَ کُل آگاه بود

دَر جَهان قائِم بِاَمرُالله بود

Translation: 

 

He is aware of the mysteries of part and whole—
He stands in the world by the command of God.

Explanation: 

This vicegerent understands both juzw (the part) and kul (the whole)—meaning both the individual soul and the cosmic order. He lives qā’im bi-amrillāh—a Qur’anic concept (see 30:30, 3:159): standing, acting, and leading solely by divine command and alignment. He is not self-willed, but God-willed. 

 

خَیمه چُون دَر وُسعَتِ عالَم زَنَد

این بَساطِ کُهنه را بَرحَم زَنَد

Translation: 

 

When he pitches his tent across the breadth of the world—
He strikes down this old, worn-out carpet (order).

Explanation: 

Iqbal moves into revolutionary imagery: the khalīfah sets up a new spiritual civilization that replaces the old, decayed structures—the world order based on greed, fear, or falsehood. His “tent” symbolizes divine sovereignty, and his arrival ends the age of spiritual ruin. 

فِطرَتَش مَعمور وَ می‌خواهَد نُمود

عالَمی دیگَر بیارَد دَر وُجود

Translation: 

 

His nature is flourishing and seeks expression—
He brings forth a new world into existence.

Explanation: 

The vicegerent’s fitrah (primordial nature) is not dormant—it is creative, dynamic, and rooted in divine knowledge. He births a new reality, not by utopian fantasy, but by spiritual actualization. This is a hallmark of Iqbal’s “khudi” philosophy: inner transformation precedes social renewal.

 

 

صَد جَهان مِثلِ جَهانِ جُزو وَ کُل

رُوید اَز کِشتِ خَیالِ اُو چُو گُل

Translation: 

 

A hundred worlds like this one, part and whole,
Spring forth from the soil of his imagination like flowers.

Explanation: 

Iqbal highlights the creative power of khayāl (imagination)—not fantasy, but the active, constructive imagination tied to revelation and will. The vicegerent’s imagination is fertile, giving rise to multiple civilizational worlds, each rooted in moral and spiritual insight.

پُختَه سازَد فِطرَتِ هَر خام را

اَز حَرَم بیرون کُنَد اَصنام را

Translation: 

 

He refines every raw nature—
And casts the idols out of the sanctuary.

Explanation: 

The khalīfah doesn’t just elevate himself; he guides others, cultivating their fitrah into full ripeness. He also purifies religion and society from false idols—not only stone images, but modern idols: nationalism, wealth, ego. This mirrors Ibrahim’s cleansing of the Ka‘bah, a recurring Iqbalian image.

نَغمه زآ تارِ دِل، اَز مِضرابِ اُو

بَهرِ حَق، بیداریِ اُو، خوابِ اُو

Translation: 

 

The melody from the strings of his heart is struck by his pick—
For the sake of Truth are his wakefulness and sleep.

Explanation: 

Iqbal ends this set with a beautiful metaphor of the vicegerent as an instrument of divine harmony. His entire being—his inner feelings (strings of the heart), his actions (pick), even his sleep and waking—are in service of ḥaqq (Divine Truth). Nothing in his life is wasted.

شِیب را آموزَد آهنگِ شَباب

می‌دَهَد هَر چیز را رَنگِ شَباب

Translation: 

 

He teaches old age the melody of youth—
He gives everything the color of youth.

Explanation: 

Iqbal praises the life-giving energy of the vicegerent: he rejuvenates what has withered—whether individuals, societies, or civilizations. “Shīb” (old age) and “shabāb” (youth) symbolize decay and renewal. He brings fresh purpose, movement, and hope where stagnation once prevailed.

نوعِ اِنسان را بَشیر وَ هَم نَذیر

هَم سِپاهی، هَم سِپَهگَر، هَم اَمیر

Translation: 

 

He is a bearer of glad tidings and also a warner to humankind—
A soldier, a commander, and a sovereign.

Explanation: 

Like the Prophet ﷺ, the vicegerent is both bashīr and nadhīr (see Qur'an 33:45)—he inspires and warns. His role spans personal action (sipāhī), leadership (sipahgar), and rule (amīr). This composite image shows that spiritual power must also be historically and socially active, not withdrawn.

 

مَدعایِ «عِلمُ الأَسماء» سِتی

سِرِّ «سُبحانَ الَّذی أَسری» سِتی

Translation: 

 

You are the claim of “knowledge of the names”—
You are the secret of “Glory be to Him Who took His servant by night.”

Explanation: 

Iqbal invokes two profound Qur’anic verses:

• ʿIlm al-Asmāʾ refers to (2:31) Adam's divine gift of universal knowledge—the foundation of human distinction.

•  Subḥāna lladhī asrā  (17:1) refers to the Miʿrāj (Night Ascension).

Iqbal links the intellectual depth and spiritual elevation of the khalīfah to prophetic perfection—he is the bearer of Adam's knowledge and the walker of Muhammad’s ascension.

 

اَز عَصا، دَستِ سَفیدَش مُحکَم اَست

قُدرَتِ کامِل، بِعِلمَش توأَم اَست

Translation: 

 

His luminous white hand is strengthened by his staff—
His perfect power is joined with knowledge.

Explanation: 

Iqbal again borrows from Moses’ miracles—the staff (‘aṣā) and the luminous hand (yad-i-bayḍāʼ). These symbolize authority and manifest truth. But unlike empty power, the vicegerent’s strength is wedded to ‘ilm (knowledge)—never separated from wisdom and purpose. Power without knowledge is ruin; together, they liberate.

چون عَنا گیرَد بِدَست آن شَهه‌سوار

تیز تَر گَردَد سَمَندِ روزگار

Translation: 

 

When that royal rider takes the reins in hand—
The steed of time gallops faster.

Explanation: 

Time itself accelerates under the leadership of the spiritually sovereign. “Shahsawār” (royal rider) is the vicegerent; “samand-i-rozgār” (steed of time) refers to history. Iqbal implies that the spiritually awakened human reorients history, catalyzing events and epochs. This is his activist vision of spirituality.

خُشک سازَد هَیبَتِ اُو نیل را

می‌بَرَد اَز مِصر، اِسرائیل را

Translation: 

 

His awe dries up the Nile—
He delivers Israel from Egypt.

Explanation: 

Iqbal invokes Moses’ liberation of the Israelites, not for ethnic reasons but to signify spiritual emancipation. The Nile (source of Pharaoh’s power) is rendered powerless by the awe of divine leadership. Iqbal insists: the true leader liberates the oppressed—through divine courage and moral clarity.

اَز قُمِ اُو خیزَد اَندَر گورِ تَن

مُردَه‌جان‌ها، چُون صَنوبَر دَر چَمَن

Translation: 

 

From his rising, in the grave of the body,
Dead souls rise like cypress trees in the garden.

Explanation: 

A majestic image of spiritual resurrection: through the vicegerent's presence, lifeless souls buried in materialism are awakened. The “cypress” (sanobar) symbolizes upright beauty, constancy, and nobility in Persian literature. The garden here is the revived world of consciousness and purpose.

 

ذاتِ اُو تَوجیهِ ذاتِ عالَم اَست

اَز جَلالِ اُو نِجاتِ عالَم اَست

Translation: 

 

His essence is the orientation of the world's essence—
From his majesty comes the world’s salvation.

Explanation: 

Iqbal posits that the khalīfah is the cosmic qiblah, the organizing principle of being. His “dhāt” (essence) aligns the universe with meaning. His jalāl (majesty)—not domination but divine dignity—offers salvation from chaos, tyranny, and spiritual death.

ذَرّه، خورشید‌آشنا اَز سایَه‌اَش

قیمتِ هَستی گَران اَز مایَه‌اَش

Translation: 

 

Even the dust becomes sun-aware from his shadow—
The value of existence rises from his substance.

Explanation: 

Iqbal uses classical imagery: dust and sun. The khalīfah casts a shadow that illumines—not darkens. His mere presence uplifts all creation. He is the source of worth, giving substance to life, like the Prophet ﷺ, whose light raised the human condition.

زِندِگی بَخشَد زِ اَعجازِ عَمَل

می‌کُنَد تَجدیدِ اَندازِ عَمَل

Translation: 

 

From the miracle of action, he gives life—
He renews the pattern of action.

Explanation: 

Iqbal closes this section on the primacy of ‘amal (action)—not mere thought, but creative, ethical, transformative deeds. This vicegerent brings not slogans but life-giving miracles through practice. He reshapes how we think, act, and live—reviving both form and spirit of civilization. 

 

جَلوه‌ها خیزَد زِ نَـقشِ پایِ اُو

صَد کَلیم آواره‌یِ سینایِ اُو

Translation: 

 

Radiance rises from the imprint of his feet—
A hundred Moseses are lost in his Sinai.

Explanation: 

Iqbal magnifies the vicegerent’s grandeur: even the traces of his path radiate spiritual energy. His Sinai—the site of divine communion—is so overwhelming that countless prophets like Moses (Kalīmullāh) become awe-struck wanderers within it. This isn't arrogance—it’s the amplification of the Prophet's ﷺ spiritual inheritance in the Insān-e-Kāmil.

زِندِگی را می‌کُنَد تَفسیرِ نو

می‌دهَد این خواب را تَعبیرِ نو

Translation: 

 

He offers a new interpretation of life—
He gives new meaning to this dream.

Explanation: 

The vicegerent doesn’t repeat the past; he reinterprets life with divine inspiration. “This dream” refers to the confused, directionless condition of modern humanity. His tāfsīr (exegesis) and ta‘bīr (dream interpretation) reawaken the world from its illusions, just as prophets redefined history.

 

هَستِیِ مَکنونِ اُو، رازِ حَیات

نَغمه‌یِ نَشِنیده‌یِ سازِ حَیات

Translation: 

 

His hidden being holds the secret of life—
A melody of life’s instrument yet unheard.

Explanation: 

Iqbal affirms the depth and originality of the vicegerent. He holds within himself not only vitality but a song yet unsung—one that life itself longs to express. This is a classical Sufi motif: the soul as a hidden pearl or note, waiting to be discovered through divine love and action.

 

طَبعِ مَضمُون‌بَندِ فِطرَت، خُون شَوَد

تا دَو بَیتِ ذاتِ اُو، موزون شَوَد

Translation: 

 

The nature that confines meaning bleeds,
So that two verses of his essence may be brought into harmony.

Explanation: 

Iqbal uses a poetic metaphor: the creative soul must suffer, just as divine harmony demands sacrifice. Even Nature herself must bleed to compose a couplet (do bayt) worthy of the vicegerent’s essence. This couplet could symbolize creation and revelation, or body and spirit—perfectly balanced.

 

مُشتِ خاکِ ما، سَرِ گَردون رَسید

زِین غُبار، آن شَهه‌سوار آید پَدید

Translation: 

 

Our handful of dust reached the heavens—
From this dust, that royal rider shall appear.

Explanation: 

This is a reference to Adam’s elevation: created from dust yet made the crown of creation. Iqbal celebrates that from this humble human substance, the spiritual conqueror—the shahsawār (rider)—will emerge. It's a hopeful claim: the next moral leader will rise from among us.

 

خُفتِه دَر خاکِستَرِ اَمرُوزِ ما

شُعلَه‌یِ فَردایِ عالَم‌سوزِ ما

Translation: 

 

Asleep in the ashes of our today—
Is the flame of our world-burning tomorrow.

Explanation: 

Iqbal presents a revolutionary image: today’s ash-like state of decline contains tomorrow’s consuming flame—the energy to transform the world. It's a message of hope, urgency, and inevitability. This inner fire is not destructive, but purifying and creative.

غُنجِه‌یِ ما گُلِستـان دَر دامَن اَست

چَشمِ ما اَز صُبحِ فَردا رُوشَن اَست

Translation: 

 

Our bud holds the garden in its embrace—
Our eyes are lit by the dawn of tomorrow.

Explanation: 

Iqbal emphasizes potential—the bud is not small; it contains the garden. The vicegerent may seem hidden or unborn, but he holds a civilization in waiting. The second line suggests vision and faith: the true seeker already sees the future dawning, even in the darkest hour.

ای سُوارِ اَشهَبِ دَوران! بِیا

ای فُروغِ دیدَه‌یِ اِمکان! بِیا

Translation: 

 

O rider of the bright steed of Time, come!
O light of the eye of possibility, come!

Explanation: 

A deeply emotional du‘ā, calling for the awaited moral and spiritual leader. “Ashhab-i-dawrān” is a white, noble steed—symbolizing divine command and speed. “Furūgh-e-dīda-ye imkān” is a majestic metaphor: the gleam in the eye of cosmic possibility. Iqbal yearns for the realization of divine potential on earth.

رَونَقِ هَنگامِه‌یِ اِیجاد شَو

دَر سَوادِ دیدَه‌ها، آباد شَو

Translation: 

 

Be the radiance of the pageant of creation—
Be established in the pupils of all eyes.

Explanation: 

Iqbal calls the vicegerent to become the center of cosmic renewal—the beauty, harmony, and power of God’s unfolding creation. He also prays for this figure to be beloved and recognized, living in the vision and consciousness of humanity. A call for both spiritual arrival and public leadership.

 

شَورِشِ اَقوام را خاموش کُن

نَغمَه‌یِ خُود را بِهَشتِ گوش کُن

Translation: 

 

Silence the chaos of the nations—
Make your melody a paradise for the ears.

Explanation: 

In the final verse of this section, Iqbal begs for peace and spiritual music to replace war and noise. The vicegerent’s naghmah (song)—a symbol of divine harmony—should calm the turmoil of clashing nations, turning pain into beauty, and conflict into communion.

خِیز وَ قانونِ أُخُوَّت ساز دِه

جامِ صَهبایِ مَحَبَّت باز دِه

Translation: 

 

Rise, and forge the law of brotherhood anew—
Pour once more the goblet of the wine of love.

Explanation: 

Iqbal calls for revival: awaken and reestablish a system rooted in ukhuwwat (brotherhood), an Islamic principle lost in modern divisions. The ṣahbā (mystical wine) of divine love must again flow—intoxicating the soul with unity and compassion. This echoes Iqbal’s dream of a spiritual-social order beyond nationalism and sectarianism.

 

باز دَر عالَم بیار ایّامِ صُلح

جَنگجُویان را بَدِه پِیغامِ صُلح

Translation: 

 

Once again, bring the days of peace into the world—
Give the warriors a message of peace.

Explanation: 

Here Iqbal directly appeals to the mu’min—the spiritually awakened—as a peacemaker. True strength lies not in conquest but in reconciling hearts. He evokes the Prophet’s mission in its Meccan and Medinan balance—resistance and reconciliation. Peace is not passivity, but the ultimate fruit of spiritual justice.

 

نَوعِ اِنسان مَزرَع وَ تو حاصِلی

کاروانِ زِندِگی را مَنزِلی

Translation: 

 

Humankind is the field, and you are the harvest;
The caravan of life—you are its destination.

Explanation: 

Iqbal shifts to cosmic responsibility: the seeker is not an isolated individual but ḥāṣil—the product and meaning of humanity’s journey. Like a prophet, the self-realized person is both the fruit of past effort and the manzil (goal) toward which others strive. This is khilāfah in poetic language. 

ریخت اَز جورِ خَزان بَرخِ شَجَر

چون بِهاران بَر رِیاضِ ما گُذَر

Translation: 

 

The leaves of the tree have fallen due to the tyranny of autumn—
Pass like spring through our gardens again.

Explanation: 

The world, like a garden in autumn, has lost its vitality—through oppression, injustice, and spiritual drought. Iqbal invokes the rūḥānī spring: he calls on the awakened soul to revive the ummah, just as spring revives dead lands. This is both a poetic plea and a political call for reawakening.

سَجدِه‌هایِ طِفلَک وَ بُرنَا وَ پِیر

اَز جَبینِ شَرمسارِ ما بگیر

Translation: 

 

Take away the prostrations of the child, the youth, and the elder—
From our shame-filled foreheads.

Explanation: 

Iqbal confesses a collective guilt: generations have bowed in worship, yet the world has decayed. These sajdahs (prostrations) become tokens of shame when disconnected from moral impact. He asks God to accept and transform them, implying that ritual alone, without reform, brings dishonor.

اَز وُجودِ تو سَرافرازیم ما

پَس بِسوز، اَین جَهان سازیم ما

Translation: 

 

We are honored by Your existence—
So light us on fire, and we shall build this world.

Explanation: 

Iqbal ends with surrender and resolve. All dignity comes from Divine presence. The command to burn may refer to self-annihilation (fanāʾ) or the purifying fire of purpose. Out of this fire, a new world will be built. The mu’min is thus a servant, a reformer, and a co-creator of civilization through divine inspiration.