Keep going within His Sight

 

  بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

 

 وَٱصْبِرْ لِحُكْمِ رَبِّكَ فَإِنَّكَ بِأَعْيُنِنَا ۖ وَسَبِّحْ بِحَمْدِ رَبِّكَ حِينَ تَقُومُ 

At-Tur (The Mount) 52:48

And so, await in patience thy Sustainer’s judgment, for thou art well within Our Sight.  And extol thy Sustainer’s limitless glory and praise whenever thou risest up

 

From the Hikayat of Khwaja Tajir in the Masnavi of Rumi.

اندرین ره می‌تراش و می‌خراش
 

On this path, chisel and carve without rest—

تا دم آخر دمی فارغ مباش
 

Not for a breath be idle, till your final breath.

تا دم آخر دمی آخر بود
 

For that breath may well be the last—

 

که عنایت با تو صاحب‌ سِر بود
 

And in it, grace may descend upon you, O keeper of the secret.

 

هر چه می‌کوشند اگر مرد و زنست
 

All who strive—whether man or woman—

 

گوش و چشم شاه جان بر روزنست
 

The Sovereign of souls stands watch, ear and eye at the window.

 فَإِنَّكَ بِأَعْيُنِنَا

 

"Chisel and carve" reflects mujāhada—the inner work of purifying the self. Rumi often uses imagery of sculpting the soul toward divine form.

"Not for a breath be idle" embodies Islamic sabr (steadfastness) and himmah (spiritual aspiration), where the seeker is never off-duty.

"Keeper of the secret" (صاحب‌ سِر) alludes to those who are entrusted with divine mysteries through maʿrifa (gnosis).

The final couplet is a quiet, awe-struck affirmation of murāqaba—God’s watchful nearness. Striving is seen, not lost; every act is heard. فَإِنَّكَ بِأَعْيُنِنَا 

Masjid-e-Qurtuba

 

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

 

یہ حُوریانِ فرنگی، دل و نظر کا حجاب
بہشتِ مغربیاں، جلوہ ہائے پا بہ رکاب

 

Translation:
These Western houris (women) are veils over heart and sight,
The paradise of the West lies in beauties ready to obey.

Explanation:
Iqbal criticizes the seductive materialism of the West. He refers to European women (symbolically) as a distraction—not inherently negative, but as symbols of how beauty and desire veil deeper vision and heart-based truth. “Jalwa haaye paa-ba-rikaab” (beauties ready to ride forth) suggests constant availability and pursuit of pleasure—for Iqbal, a sign of a shallow civilization.

 

دل و نظر کا سفینہ سنبھال کر لے جا
مہ و ستارہ ہیں بحرِ وجود میں گرداب

 

Translation:
Steer well the ship of your heart and sight—
The moon and stars are mere whirlpools in the ocean of existence.

Explanation:
Iqbal warns the seeker to carefully guard inner clarity and perception. Even celestial forces—moon and stars, symbols of knowledge and power—are insufficient; they too are trapped in the flux of being, unable to offer spiritual direction. He urges inner control amidst external grandeur.

جہانِ صوت و صدا میں سما نہیں سکتی
لطیفۂ ازَلی ہے فغانِ چنگ و رباب

 

Translation:
The world of sound and voice cannot contain it—
The eternal subtlety is the cry of harp and lute.

Explanation:
The music of traditional instruments (chang-o-rabaab) may express something eternal, but true spiritual lament (fughaan)—a timeless, subtle longing—transcends ordinary perception. Iqbal critiques shallow aestheticism while still acknowledging music as a possible vessel for spiritual expression—but never its substitute.

  
سِکھا دیے ہیں اسے شیوہ ہائے خانقہی
فقیہِ شہر کو صوفی نے کر دیا ہے خراب

 

Translation:
He has taught him the ways of the Sufi retreat—
The city’s jurist has been ruined by the dervish.

Explanation:
Iqbal laments the corruption of Islamic scholarship and spirituality. The jurist (faqih), who should represent law and reason, has been misled by a degenerated form of Sufism—one that teaches withdrawal and ritualism rather than dynamic spiritual and ethical leadership. It’s a critique of decadent religious culture.

  

وہ سجدہ، روحِ زمیں جس سے کانپ جاتی تھی
اُسی کو آج ترستے ہیں منبر و محراب

 

Translation:
That prostration which once made the soul of the earth tremble—
Today the pulpits and prayer-niches long for it.

Explanation:
Iqbal mourns the loss of spiritual power in Muslim prayer. Once, sujood (prostration) symbolized a powerful, living faith that could shake the world. Today, the institutions of religion (minbar and mehrab) miss that sincerity and fire—they are empty forms devoid of transformative spirit.

 

 
سُنی نہ مصر و فلسطیں میں وہ اذاں میں نے
دیا تھا جس نے پہاڑوں کو رعشۂ سیماب

 

Translation:
I did not hear that call to prayer in Egypt or Palestine—
The one that once made mountains tremble like quicksilver.

Explanation:
Iqbal refers to the original, fiery Adhan (call to prayer)—a symbol of Islam’s early revolutionary energy. Its absence in the heartlands of Islam (like Egypt and Palestine) signals decay. The comparison to trembling mountains echoes Qur'anic imagery—a faith that once changed landscapes now lacks inner vitality.

 

 
ہوائے قُرطُبہ! شاید یہ ہے اثر تیرا
مری نوا میں ہے سوز و سُرورِ عہدِ شباب

 

Translation:
O breeze of Cordoba! Perhaps this is your effect—
In my melody now burns the joy and pain of youthful days.

Explanation:
Iqbal ends this section on a reflective note. The air of Cordoba, once a center of Islamic civilization, rekindles his youthful spiritual fire. Suroor (joy) and soz (burning pain) represent a passionate longing for renewal. He’s inspired to revive the spirit of a lost golden age, not replicate it superficially.

Husain Ahmad

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

 

Here is a poem that Iqbal wrote which caused grief to a lot of the Muslims supportive of Indian National Congress. But it's important to understand it in modern context 

 
حُسین احمد!
عجم ہنوز نداند رموزِ دیں، ورنہ
 

Husain Ahmad!
The non-Arab still does not grasp the secrets of the faith—otherwise...

 
ز دیوبند حُسین احمد! ایں چہ بوالعجبی است
 

That Husain Ahmad of Deoband—what strange absurdity is this!

 
سرود بر سرِ منبر کہ مِلّت از وطن است
 

He proclaimed from the pulpit: “Nationhood comes from the homeland”!

 
چہ بے خبر ز مقامِ محمدِؐ عربی است
 

How unaware he is of the rank of Muhammad the Arab ﷺ!

 
بمصطفیٰؐ برساں خویش را کہ دیں ہمہ اوست
 

Align yourself with Mustafa ﷺ—for the faith is entirely in Him;

 
اگر بہ او نرسیدی، تمام بولہبی است
 

If you do not reach Him, your faith is nothing but Abu Lahab’s.




Maulana Husain Ahmad Madani supported territorial nationalism, proposing that Muslims and Hindus could form one Indian nation (qaum) based on shared land and anti-colonial struggle.

Iqbal rejected this, insisting that Muslim identity and nationhood were based not on geography or ethnicity, but on a shared spiritual and ideological connection to the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ.


“He proclaimed from the pulpit: ‘Nationhood comes from the homeland’”
Iqbal sees this as a departure from Islamic principles, a borrowing of Western nationalist ideology which defines a nation by land, not by belief.

“How unaware he is of the rank of Muhammad the Arab ﷺ!”
Iqbal points out that Madani's framework ignores the prophetic model, which did not rely on bloodline or territory, but on belief and submission to the message.

And here lies Iqbal’s critical point:
 

If nationhood were based on shared homeland or ethnicity, then Abu Lahab—who belonged to the same tribe, same city, and same bloodline as the Prophet ﷺ—would have been part of his nation.
But Islam did not count him as such.
Because faith, not land or lineage, defines the Muslim ummah.



“Align yourself with Mustafa ﷺ—for the faith is entirely in Him”
Iqbal insists that the true bond that forms a nation in Islam is alignment with the Prophet’s message and mission. Any attempt to define nationhood outside of this is hollow.

“If you do not reach Him, your faith is nothing but Abu Lahab’s.”
Iqbal ends sharply: even if one opposes colonialism, waves flags, or speaks of unity—if it is not rooted in prophetic truth, it is spiritually empty, like the religion of Abu Lahab who lived with the Prophet but stood opposed to his truth.