The Breeze, the Beloved, and the Name Remembered After God

 A variant of the poem below exists in Tarjuman-ul-Quran, where it is still attributed to Aasi. (Tarjuman ul Quran) Here is the full version from the دیوانِ آسیؔ /.

A poem by Aasi Ghazipuri 

وَہاں پَہُنْچ کے یہ کَہنا، صَبَا، سَلَام کے بَعْد

کِہ تِیرے نام کی رَٹ ہے، خُدَا کے نام کے بَعْد 

شَبِ وِصال، بَیانِ غَمِ فِراق عَبَث

فُضُول ہے گِلَۂ زَخْم، اِلْتِیام کے بَعْد

وَہاں بھی وَعْدَۂ دِیدار اِس طَرَح ٹالا

کِہ خَاص لوگ طَلَب ہوں گے بَارِ عَام کے بَعْد 

گُنَاہ گار کی سُن لو، تو صَاف صَاف یہ ہے

کِہ لُطْفِ رَحْم و کَرَم کیا، پِھر اِنتِقام کے بَعْد

طَلَب تَمام ہو، مَطْلُوب کی اگر حَد ہو

لَگا ہُوا ہے یہاں کُوچ، ہر مَقام کے بَعْد 

وُہ خَط، وُہ چِہْرَہ، وُہ زُلْفِ سِیاہ تو دیکھو

کِہ شام، صُبْح کے بَعْد آئے؛ صُبْح، شام کے بَعْد 

تُجھے کہے کیوں کر نہ غَیرتِ عِیسٰی

رَہا نہ ہوش کِسی کو تِرَے کَلام کے بَعْد

پَیامبَر کو رَوانہ کیا تو رَشک آیا
نہ ہَم کَلام ہو اُس سے مِرَے کَلام کے بَعْد

تَمام ہوں اَبھی جَھگڑے یہ لَنْ تَرَانِی کے
دِکھا دو جَلْوَہ، خُدَا را، اگر کَلام کے بَعْد

اَبھی تو دیکھتے ہیں ظَرْفِ بَادَہ خْواروں کا
سَبُو و خُم کی بھی ٹھہرے گی دَورِ جام کے بَعْد

اِلٰہی! آسِیؔ بے تاب کِس سے چُھوٹا ہے
کِہ خَط میں رُوزِ قِیامَت لکھا ہے نام کے بَعْد

English transliteration and translation

Wahāñ pahuñch ke yih kahnā, sabā, salām ke baʿd

Kih tere nām kī raṭ hai, Khudā ke nām ke baʿd

(When you reach there, morning breeze, say this after my greeting: after the name of God, it is your name that I keep repeating.)

Shab-i visāl, bayān-i gham-i firāq ʿabas

Fuzūl hai gila-i zakhm, iltiyām ke baʿd

(On the night of union, speaking of the grief of separation is vain; complaining of the wound is pointless after it has healed.)

Wahāñ bhī waʿda-i dīdār is tarah ṭālā

Kih khās log talab hoñge bār-i ʿām ke baʿd

(Even there, the promised vision was postponed thus: the chosen ones will be summoned after the public audience.)

Gunāh-gār kī sun lo, to sāf sāf yih hai

Kih luṭf-i raḥm o karam kyā, phir intiqām ke baʿd

(Listen to a sinner; plainly it is this: what use is mercy and kindness after punishment has come?)

Talab tamām ho, maṭlūb kī agar ḥad ho

Lagā huā hai yahāñ kūch, har maqām ke baʿd

(Longing would end only if the Beloved had a limit; here, after every station, another departure is under way.)

Wuh khaṭ, wuh chihra, wuh zulf-i siyāh to dekho

Kih shām, ṣubḥ ke baʿd āe; ṣubḥ, shām ke baʿd

(Look at that down, that face, that dark tress: evening comes after morning, and morning after evening.)

Tujhe kahe kyūñ-kar na ghairat-i ʿĪsā

Rahā na hosh kisī ko tere kalām ke baʿd

(Why should you not be called the envy of Jesus? After your words, no one keeps their senses.)

Payāmbar ko rawāna kiyā to rashk āyā

Na ham-kalām ho us se mire kalām ke baʿd

(I sent a messenger, then jealousy overcame me: may he not converse with you after carrying my message.)

Tamām hoñ abhī jhagṛe yih lan-tarānī ke

Dikhā do jalwa, Khudā-rā, agar kalām ke baʿd

(Let these quarrels over "You shall not see Me" end now; for God's sake, show the radiance after all this speech.)

Abhī to dekhte haiñ zarf-i bāda-khwāroñ kā

Sabū o khum kī bhī ṭhahregī daur-i jām ke baʿd

(For now, we test the capacity of the wine-drinkers; the pitcher and the cask too will have their turn after the cup's round.)

Ilāhī! Āsī be-tāb kis se chhūṭā hai

Kih khaṭ meñ roz-i qiyāmat likhā hai nām ke baʿd

(O God, from whom has restless Aasi been parted, that in the letter the Day of Resurrection is written after his name?)

When Longing Becomes Life

 

بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

The ghazal below is one of those ghazals where Iqbal is not merely giving us poetry. He is giving us a diagnosis of life.

What keeps a person alive?

Not only breathing.

Not only eating, working, sleeping, and moving through the routines of the day.

For Iqbal, real life begins when the heart is seized by a true longing. A person without longing may still be alive outwardly, but inwardly he has become still. His days pass, but his soul does not rise.

Iqbal begins with this powerful couplet:

نہ ہو طغیانِ مشتاقی تو میں رہتا نہیں باقی

کہ میری زندگی کیا ہے یہی طغیانِ مشتاقی

If the flood of longing were not within me, I could not remain alive;
for what is my life, after all, but this very flood of longing?

The word طغیان means overflow, intensity, a flood-like force. مشتاقی means longing, desire, yearning, the ache of seeking something beloved.

So Iqbal is not speaking of a mild interest. He is not speaking of a passing emotion. He is speaking of a flood inside the human being.

There are some people whose hearts are quiet because they have found peace. But there are also people whose hearts are quiet because they have stopped wanting anything noble. Iqbal does not praise this second quietness. His ideal is not numbness. His ideal is a living restlessness: the kind of longing that wakes a person up, pushes him toward truth, and refuses to let him become satisfied with a small life.

This is why he says that his life itself is طغیانِ مشتاقی.

Longing is not something added to life.

Longing is the movement of life.

Then he says:

مجھے فطرت نوا پر پے بہ پے مجبور کرتی ہے

ابھی محفل میں ہے شاید کوئی درد آشنا باقی

My nature keeps compelling me, again and again, to exclaim
perhaps there is still someone in the gathering who understands pain.

This is a beautiful way of describing the responsibility of the poet, the teacher, the caller, and the one who carries any message of awakening.

Iqbal says that his own nature keeps pushing him toward نوا — song, voice, utterance. He cannot remain silent. Why? Perhaps there is still someone in the gathering who understands pain.

This is a very hopeful line.

Iqbal does not say that everyone will understand. He does not say that the whole gathering is awake. He only says: perhaps there is still one درد آشنا — one person who knows the meaning of pain.

That is enough.

Sometimes one speaks because there may be one heart still alive. One writes because there may be one reader who is not asleep. One teaches because there may be one child, one student, one seeker whose inner world is ready for a spark.

For Iqbal, poetry is not decoration. It is not merely beautiful language. It is a call to the awake heart.

Then comes the fire:

وہ آتش آج بھی تیرا نشیمن پھونک سکتی ہے

طلب صادق نہ ہو تیری تو پھر کیا شکوۂ ساقی

That fire can still burn through your dwelling today;
but if your seeking is not sincere, why complain of the Cupbearer?

This couplet is harsh, but it is also full of hope.

Iqbal says that the same fire is still present. The fire that once transformed hearts, built character, gave courage, produced sacrifice, and raised people from weakness to dignity — that fire has not disappeared.

The problem is not that the fire is gone.

The problem is that the seeking is weak.

طلبِ صادق means sincere seeking. It means wanting truth with honesty. It means wanting nearness to Allah, not merely the appearance of religion. It means wanting change, not merely complaining about decline. It means wanting the work of the heart, not only the comfort of spiritual language.

Iqbal turns the complaint back toward us.

If your own desire is not sincere, then why complain about the Cupbearer?

In the language of poetry, the ساقی is the one who gives the wine. In Iqbal’s spiritual language, this can point toward the giver of life, guidance, strength, and inner intoxication. But Iqbal is saying: do not blame the giver when the cup of your own desire is empty.

This is one of Iqbal’s great lessons.

Do not complain that you have not been transformed if you have never truly asked to be transformed.

Do not complain that you have not received fire if you only wanted warmth.

Then he turns to the dazzle of the West:

نہ کر افرنگ کا اندازہ اس کی تابناکی سے

کہ بجلی کے چراغوں سے ہے اس جوہر کی برّاقی

Do not judge the West by its dazzling shine;
the sparkle of that jewel comes from electric lamps.

This couplet must be read carefully.

Iqbal was not against knowledge, science, organization, strength, or learning from others. He himself studied deeply, travelled widely, and understood modern thought. His warning is not against knowledge. His warning is against being dazzled.

He says: do not measure a civilization only by its shine.

Some brightness is real. Some brightness is borrowed from lamps.

There is a kind of progress that lights up streets but darkens hearts. There is a kind of civilization that increases comfort but weakens courage. There is a kind of shine that impresses the eyes but leaves the soul hungry.

Iqbal is asking the Muslim not to become a worshipper of surfaces.

Electric lamps can make everything look bright for a while. But the deeper question is: what happens when the lights go out? Is there still a living flame inside? Is there still faith, character, self-command, sacrifice, modesty, courage, and truth?

Iqbal is not saying, “Ignore the world.”

He is saying, “Do not be fooled by glitter.”

Then he gives us a principle for large action:

دلوں میں ولولے آفاق گیری کے نہیں اٹھتے

نگاہوں میں اگر پیدا نہ ہو اندازِ آفاقی

Hearts do not rise with the passion to embrace the world
unless the eyes first learn to see with a universal vision.

This is one of the most important lessons in the ghazal.

Great work begins with great seeing.

A narrow gaze produces a narrow life. If a person only sees his own comfort, his own tribe, his own little success, his own small circle, then his ambitions will also remain small. But when the gaze becomes آفاقی — wide, universal, spacious — then the heart begins to rise.

This is especially important for Muslims.

Iqbal is constantly calling the Muslim out of smallness. He does not want us trapped in complaint, imitation, fear, or laziness. He wants the gaze to widen until the heart remembers its responsibility to the world.

Islam did not come to produce small hearts.

It came to produce people whose worship connects them to Allah, and whose character becomes mercy, justice, courage, and service for creation.

But the eyes must change first.

If the vision is low, the action will be low.

If the gaze rises, the heart will follow.

Then Iqbal gives the image of a bird in autumn:

خزاں میں بھی کب آ سکتا تھا میں صیاد کی زد میں

مری غماز تھی شاخِ نشیمن کی کم اوراقی

Even in autumn, how could I have fallen within the hunter’s aim?
It was the thinly-leaved branch of my nest that gave me away.

This is a painful image.

A bird has made its nest. The hunter is watching. Even in autumn, the bird might still have remained hidden. But the branch has too few leaves. The nest becomes visible. The hunter can now take aim.

Iqbal’s point is subtle.

Sometimes the enemy is not powerful because he is truly great. He becomes powerful because our own shelter has become weak.

The branch had too few leaves.

The protection was thin.

The hiding place was exposed.

This can be read at many levels. A person becomes exposed when his inner discipline weakens. A family becomes exposed when its bonds weaken. A community becomes exposed when its knowledge, courage, unity, and moral habits become thin. Then the hunter does not need much skill. The nest has already been revealed.

This couplet teaches us not to blame only the hunter.

We must also look at the branch.

What has become thin in our own lives?

Is it prayer?

Is it truthfulness?

Is it courage?

Is it family life?

Is it love of knowledge?

Is it service?

Is it the ability to sacrifice?

When the leaves of protection are gone, even an ordinary hunter becomes dangerous.

Finally, Iqbal says:

الٹ جائیں گی تدبیریں، بدل جائیں گی تقدیریں

حقیقت ہے، نہیں میرے تخیل کی یہ خلّاقی

Plans will be overturned, destinies will be changed;
this is reality, not a creation of my imagination.

Iqbal ends with certainty.

This is not merely poetry, he says. This is not only imagination. A great turning is coming. Plans will be overturned. Destinies will be changed.

This is how Iqbal often speaks. He looks at the world and sees movement beneath the surface. Where others see fixed arrangements, he sees change. Where others see decline as permanent, he sees the possibility of awakening. Where others see weakness, he asks whether a sincere longing still remains.

The whole ghazal is held together by this one idea: life changes when longing becomes true.

Not shallow longing.

Not borrowed longing.

Not the longing to appear spiritual.

Not the longing to be praised.

But طلبِ صادق.

A sincere seeking.

A seeking that becomes fire.

A seeking that widens the gaze.

A seeking that gives voice to pain.

A seeking that refuses to be fooled by surface glitter.

A seeking that asks the heart to become alive again.

This is why the first couplet is the key:

نہ ہو طغیانِ مشتاقی تو میں رہتا نہیں باقی

کہ میری زندگی کیا ہے یہی طغیانِ مشتاقی

If the flood of longing were not within me, I could not remain alive;
for what is my life, after all, but this very flood of longing?

Iqbal is teaching us that a human being is not truly alive merely because his body continues. He is alive when he has a noble ache inside him.

A longing for Allah.

A longing for truth.

A longing for the Prophet’s ﷺ way.

A longing for action.

A longing for moral beauty.

A longing to become more than the small self.

May Allah place in our hearts a sincere طلب.

May He protect us from the glitter that blinds.

May He give us an آفاقی gaze.

May He make our longing join with action.

And may He keep the flood of مشتاقی alive within us.

Payami’s Longing for the Rawdah

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

There are some couplets that survive not because they are long, difficult, or ornate, but because they say one thing with complete inward honesty.

This short Urdu couplet is one of them:

پَیامیؔ مَوْت سے ڈَرْتا نَہیں، پَر آرْزُو یہ ہے

کہ پَہُنْچے رَوْضَۂ خَیْرُ الْوَرٰی پر، مَوْت سے پَہْلے

Payami is not afraid of death; his only longing is this:
that before death comes, he may reach the blessed resting place of the Best of Creation ﷺ.

A slightly freer rendering would be:

Death does not frighten Payami; one wish alone remains:
before his final breath, may he reach the sacred resting place of the Best of Creation ﷺ.
The couplet is most probably by مولانا محمد مطیعُ الحق پیامیؔ, who is remembered as an Islamic scholar and poet. An accessible biographical note describes him as حضرت علامہ مولانا محمد مطیع الحق پیامی حنفی چشتی نقشبندی مجددی, صاحبِ ضیاء العقائد, an اسلامی شاعر, and connected with کتب خانہ ضیاء العلوم، فیض باغ، لاہور. It also mentions that his resting place is in گھوڑے شاہ قبرستان.

There is also a transmitted attribution that he was the نواسہ, the maternal grandson, of Shaykh al-Hind مولانا محمود حسن دیوبندیؒ. I have not yet found an accessible written source that fixes the exact occasion on which he recited these lines but an oral tradition indicates that he was asked to recite something spontaneously. So the careful way to say it is: this couplet is most probably by مولانا محمد مطیع الحق پیامیؔ; the exact occasion remains to be verified from a fuller written source.

The couple above reminds me that the believer’s heart should not only ask, “How do I avoid death?” Death cannot be avoided. A deeper question is: What longing do I want to carry into death?

For Payami, the answer is clear.

Not a throne.

Not applause.

Not ease.

Not a long list of worldly completions.

Only this:

پَہُنْچے رَوْضَۂ خَیْرُ الْوَرٰی پر، مَوْت سے پَہْلے

May he reach the blessed resting place of the Best of Creation ﷺ before death comes.

And perhaps, in that one wish, there is a lesson for us too.

Before death comes, may our hearts learn what is worth longing for.

Before death comes, may our love become sincere.

Before death comes, may our salām reach him ﷺ with truth.

اللّٰهُمَّ صَلِّ وَسَلِّمْ وَبَارِكْ عَلَى سَيِّدِنَا مُحَمَّدٍ وَعَلَى آلِهِ وَصَحْبِهِ أَجْمَعِينَ.

 

Love That Becomes Action: Iqbal Before the Mercy to All Worlds ﷺ

 

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

The poem below is “عرضِ حالِ مصنف بحضورِ رحمة للعالمین” from Iqbal’s Rumūz-e-Bekhudī. The International Iqbal Society lists it under Rumūz-e-Bekhudī.

1

ای ظهور تو شبابِ زندگی

جلوه‌ات تعبیرِ خوابِ زندگی

O you whose appearance is the youth and freshness of life;
your radiance is the interpretation of life’s dream.

2

ای زمین از بارگاهت ارجمند

آسمان از بوسهٔ بامت بلند

O earth, honored by your court;
the sky itself is raised by kissing your roof.

3

شش جهت روشن ز تابِ روی تو

ترک و تاجیک و عرب، هندوی تو

All six directions shine from the light of your face;
Turk, Tajik, Arab, and Hindu all belong to you.

4

از تو بالا پایهٔ این کائنات

فقرِ تو سرمایهٔ این کائنات

Through you, the universe gains its rank;
your holy poverty is the treasure of creation.

5

در جهان شمعِ حیات افروختی

بندگان را خواجگی آموختی

You lit the candle of life in the world;
you taught servants how to become masters.

6

بی تو از نابودمندی‌ها خجل

پیکرانِ این سرای آب و گل

Without you, the bodies of this house of water and clay
would be ashamed of their own nothingness.

7

تا دمِ تو آتشی از گل گشود

توده‌های خاک را آدم نمود

Your breath drew fire out of clay;
it turned heaps of dust into Adam.

8

ذره دامن‌گیرِ مهر و ماه شد

یعنی از نیروی خویش آگاه شد

The tiny particle reached for the sun and moon;
in other words, it became aware of its own power.

9

تا مرا افتاد بر رویت نظر

از اَب و اُم گشته‌ای محبوب‌تر

Ever since my gaze fell upon your face,
you became dearer to me than father and mother.

10

عشق در من آتشی افروخت است

فرصتش بادا که جانم سوخت است

Love has lit a fire within me;
blessed be the moment that burned my soul.

11

ناله‌ای مانندِ نی سامانِ من

آن چراغِ خانهٔ ویرانِ من

A reed-like cry is all my provision;
it is the lamp of my ruined house.

12

از غمِ پنهان نگفتن مشکل است

باده در مینا نهفتن مشکل است

It is hard not to speak of hidden grief;
it is hard to hide wine inside the flask.

13

مسلم از سرِّ نبی بیگانه شد

باز این بیت‌الحرم بتخانه شد

The Muslim has become estranged from the Prophet’s secret;
this sacred sanctuary has once again become an idol-house.

14

از منات و لات و عزی و هبل

هر یکی دارد بتی اندر بغل

Of Manāt, Lāt, ʿUzzā, and Hubal,
each one now carries an idol in his arms.

15

شیخِ ما از برهمن کافرتر است

زانکه او را سومنات اندر سر است

Our shaykh is more idolatrous than the Brahmin,
for Somnath itself is lodged within his mind.

16

رختِ هستی از عرب برچیده‌ای

در خمستانِ عجم خوابیده‌ای

You have packed away your inheritance from Arabia;
you sleep in the wine-cellar of alien customs.

17

شل ز برفابِ عجم اعضای او

سردتر از اشکِ او صهبای او

His limbs are weakened by the icy water of foreign ways;
his wine is colder than his tears.

18

همچو کافر از اجل ترسنده‌ای

سینه‌اش فارغ ز قلبِ زنده‌ای

Like an unbeliever, he fears death;
his breast is empty of a living heart.

19

نعشش از پیشِ طبیبان برده‌ام

در حضورِ مصطفی آورده‌ام

I have carried his corpse away from the doctors;
I have brought it into the presence of Mustafa ﷺ.

20

مرده بود، از آبِ حیوان گفتمش

سرّی از اسرارِ قرآن گفتمش

He was dead, so I spoke to him of the water of life;
I told him a secret from the secrets of the Qur’an.

21

داستانی گفتم از یارانِ نجد

نکهتی آوردم از بستانِ نجد

I told him a story of the companions of Najd;
I brought him a fragrance from the garden of Najd.

22

محفل از شمعِ نوا افروختم

قوم را رمزِ حیات آموختم

I lit the gathering with the candle of song;
I taught the nation the secret of life.

23

گفت بر ما بندد افسونِ فرنگ
هست غوغایش ز قانونِ فرنگ

He said, “Europe casts its spell over us;
all this uproar comes from Europe’s law.”

24

ای بصیری را ردا بخشنده‌ای

بربطِ سلما مرا بخشنده‌ای

O you who granted Busiri the mantle;
O you who granted me the lute of Salmā.

25

ذوقِ حق ده این خطااندیش را

اینکه نشناسد متاعِ خویش را

Give the taste of truth to this mistaken thinker,
to one who does not recognize his own treasure.

26

گر دلم آئینهٔ بی‌جوهر است

ور بحرفم غیرِ قرآن مضمر است

If my heart is a mirror without brightness,
or if anything other than the Qur’an is hidden in my words,

27

ای فروغت صبحِ اعصار و دهور

چشمِ تو بینندهٔ ما فی‌الصدور

O you whose light is the dawn of ages and eras;
your eye sees what is hidden within the breasts.

28

پردهٔ ناموسِ فکرم چاک کن

این خیابان را ز خارم پاک کن

Tear open the veil that guards my thought;
clear this path of the thorns I have planted.

29

تنگ کن رختِ حیات اندر برم

اهلِ ملت را نگهدار از شرم

Make the garment of life tighten upon me;
protect the people of the community from my disgrace.

30

سبز کشتِ نابسامانم مکن

بهره‌گیر از ابرِ نیسانم مکن

Do not let my disordered field grow green;
do not let it benefit from the April rain-cloud.

31

خشک گردان باده در انگورِ من

زهر ریز اندر میِ کافورِ من

Dry up the wine within my grapes;
pour poison into my camphor-like wine.

32

روزِ محشر خوار و رسوا کن مرا

بی‌نصیب از بوسهٔ پا کن مرا

On the Day of Gathering, make me humiliated and exposed;
deprive me of the honor of kissing your feet.

33

گر در اسرارِ قرآن سفته‌ام

با مسلمانان اگر حق گفته‌ام

But if I have strung pearls from the secrets of the Qur’an,
if I have spoken truth to the Muslims,

34

ای که از احسانِ تو ناکس، کس است

یک دعایت مزدِ گفتارم بس است

O you by whose kindness a nobody becomes somebody,
one prayer from you is enough reward for my words.

35

عرض کن پیشِ خدای عزوجل

عشقِ من گردد هم‌آغوشِ عمل

Present this request before God Almighty:
may my love become joined with action.

36

دولتِ جانِ حزین بخشیده‌ای

بهره‌ای از علمِ دین بخشیده‌ای

You have given wealth to my sorrowful soul;
you have given me a share of religious knowledge.

37

در عمل پاینده‌تر گردان مرا

آبِ نیسانم گهر گردان مرا

Make me firmer in action;
turn my April raindrop into a pearl.

38

رختِ جان تا در جهان آورده‌ام

آرزوی دیگری پرورده‌ام

From the moment I brought my soul’s baggage into this world,
I have nurtured another longing.

39

همچو دل در سینه‌ام آسوده است

محرم از صبحِ حیاتم بوده است

It rests in my breast like the heart itself;
it has been my confidant since the dawn of life.

40

از پدر تا نامِ تو آموختم

آتشِ این آرزو افروختم

From the moment I learned your name from my father,
I lit the fire of this longing.

41

تا فلک دیرینه‌تر سازد مرا

در قمارِ زندگی بازد مرا

As the sky makes me older,
as it gambles me away in the game of life,

42

آرزوی من جوان‌تر می‌شود

این کهن صهبا گران‌تر می‌شود

my longing grows younger,
and this old wine grows more precious.

43

این تمنا زیرِ خاکم گوهر است

در شبم تابِ همین یک اختر است

This desire is a pearl beneath my dust;
in my night, the light of this one star is enough.

44

مدتی با لاله‌رویان ساختم

عشق با مرغوله‌مویان باختم

For a while I kept company with tulip-faced beauties;
I played at love with those of curling hair.

45

باده‌ها با ماه‌سیمایان زدم

بر چراغِ عافیت دامان زدم

I drank wine with moon-faced beauties;
I set fire to the lamp of safety and ease.

46

برق‌ها رقصید گردِ حاصلم

رهزنان بردند کالای دلم

Lightning danced around my harvest;
robbers carried away the goods of my heart.

47

این شراب از شیشهٔ جانم نریخت

این زرِ سارا ز دامانم نریخت

Yet this wine did not spill from the bottle of my soul;
this pure gold did not fall from my robe.

48

عقلِ آزرپیشه‌ام زنار بست

نقشِ او در کشورِ جانم نشست

My idol-making intellect tied the sacred thread around me;
its image settled in the kingdom of my soul.

49

سال‌ها بودم گرفتارِ شکی

از دماغِ خشکِ من لاینفکی

For years I was trapped in a doubt
that would not leave my dry intellect.

50

حرفی از علم‌الیقین ناخوانده‌ای

در گمان‌آبادِ حکمت مانده‌ای

I had not learned even one letter of the knowledge of certainty;
I remained stuck in the town of philosophical conjecture.

51

ظلمتم از تابِ حق بیگانه بود

شامم از نورِ شفق بیگانه بود

My darkness was estranged from the light of truth;
my evening was estranged from the glow of dawn.

52

این تمنا در دلم خوابیده ماند

در صدف مثلِ گهر پوشیده ماند

This longing remained asleep in my heart;
like a pearl in its shell, it stayed hidden.

53

آخر از پیمانهٔ چشمم چکید

در ضمیرِ من نواها آفرید

At last it dripped from the cup of my eyes;
it created songs within my inner being.

54

ای ز یادِ غیرِ تو جانم تهی

بر لبش آرم اگر فرمان دهی

O you whose remembrance empties my soul of all others,
I will bring this longing to my lips if you command.

55

زندگی را از عمل سامان نبود

پس مرا این آرزو شایان نبود

My life had not been ordered by action;
therefore this wish did not seem worthy of me.

56

شرم از اظهارِ او آید مرا

شفقتِ تو جرأت افزاید مرا

I feel ashamed to express it,
but your compassion gives me courage.

57

هست شأنِ رحمتت گیتی‌نواز

آرزو دارم که میرم در حجاز

It is the nature of your mercy to nurture the world;
I long to die in the Hijaz.

58

مسلمی از ماسوا بیگانه‌ای

تا کجا زناریِ بتخانه‌ای

A Muslim is one who is free from everything besides God;
how long will you remain a thread-wearer in the idol-house?

59

حیف چون او را سرآید روزگار

پیکرش را دیر گیرد در کنار

Alas, when his time comes to an end,
the temple takes his body into its embrace.

60

از درت خیزد اگر اجزای من

وای امروزم، خوشا فردای من

If the particles of my body rise from your threshold,
woe to my today, but blessed is my tomorrow.

61

فرخا شهری که تو بودی در آن

ای خنک خاکی که آسودی در آن

Blessed is the city where you once lived;
blessed is the soil where you rest.

62

مسکنِ یار است و شهرِ شاهِ من

پیشِ عاشق این بود حب‌الوطن

It is the dwelling of the Beloved and the city of my King;
for the lover, this is what love of homeland means.

63

کوکبم را دیدهٔ بیدار بخش
مرقدی در سایهٔ دیوار بخش

Give the star of my destiny an awakened eye;
grant me a grave in the shade of your wall.

64

تا بیاساید دلِ بی‌تابِ من

بستگی پیدا کند سیمابِ من

Then my restless heart may find rest;
then my quicksilver soul may become still.

65

با فلک گویم که آرامم نگر
دیده‌ای آغازم، انجامم نگر

I will say to the sky: “Look at my repose;
you saw my beginning — now behold my end.”

This poem is Iqbal’s intimate petition before the Prophet ﷺ, whom he addresses as رحمة للعالمین — the Mercy to all worlds. It begins with praise: the Prophet ﷺ is presented as the one through whom life receives youth, meaning, light, and direction. Iqbal is not writing ordinary admiration; he is showing the Prophet ﷺ as the living center of civilization, faith, human dignity, and moral awakening.

The middle section becomes a sharp diagnosis of Muslim decline. Iqbal says the Muslim has become estranged from سرِّ نبی — the secret of the Prophet ﷺ. That “secret” is not hidden information; it is the living Prophetic spirit: tawḥīd, courage, mercy, discipline, freedom from idols, and action rooted in faith. His criticism of idols is not only about stone idols. He is also attacking the idols of ego, empty ritual, borrowed thinking, fear, laziness, and lifeless scholarship.

The key couplet is:

عرض کن پیشِ خدای عزوجل 
عشقِ من گردد هم‌آغوشِ عمل

Present this request before God Almighty:
may my love become joined with action.

This is the heart of the poem. For Iqbal, love for the Prophet ﷺ must not remain only emotion, poetry, or devotion of the tongue. It must become عمل: character, service, truthfulness, courage, justice, and rebuilding of the self and the community.

The final section becomes personal and tender. Iqbal confesses his own intellectual wandering, doubts, distractions, and worldly attractions. Yet one longing remained pure from childhood: love for the Prophet ﷺ and the desire for nearness to the Hijaz. The poem ends with the image of rest near the Prophet’s city — a spiritual homecoming after a restless life.

Were my heart to split open

 

 بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

While going through classical Islamic literature, one often comes across gems of poetry that touch the heart. The set below is something that really struck me. They are found in s al-Marzubānī’s al-Muwashshaḥ, which places the three couplets under al-ʿAbbās ibn al-Aḥnaf.  Ibn al-Qayyim’s two forms are best treated as devotional reuses or adaptations, not as the original authorship.

 الْيَوْمُ مِثْلُ الْحَوْلِ حَتَّى أَرَى

وَجْهَكِ، وَالسَّاعَةُ كَالشَّهْرِ

إِنَّ الَّذِي أُضْمِرُ عِنْدَ الَّذِي

أُظْهِرُ كَالْقَطْرَةِ فِي الْبَحْرِ

لَوْ شُقَّ عَنْ قَلْبِي قُرِئَ وَسَطَهُ

ذِكْرُكِ وَالتَّوْحِيدُ فِي سَطْرِ

Transliteration

al-yawmu mithlu al-ḥawli ḥattā arā
wajhaki, wa-s-sāʿatu ka-sh-shahri

inna alladhī uḍmiru ʿinda alladhī
uẓhiru ka-l-qaṭrati fī al-baḥri

law shuqqa ʿan qalbī quriʾa wasaṭahu
dhikruki wa-t-tawḥīdu fī saṭri 

 

English translation

Today feels as long as a year until I see your face;
even an hour feels like a month.

What I keep hidden, compared with what I show,
is like a single drop in the sea.

If my heart were cut open, one would read at its center:
your remembrance and the oneness of God, written on one line.

 

Ibn al-Qayyim does not present a new full poem. He reuses the line devotionally, applying “your remembrance” to the Prophet ﷺ and pairing it with tawḥīd, the oneness of God.

A. Version in Badāʾiʿ al-Fawāʾid

The printed Shamela text of Badāʾiʿ al-Fawāʾid gives the wording as: 

 

 لَوْ شُقَّ عَنْ قَلْبِي يُرَى وَسَطَهُ

ذِكْرُكَ وَالتَّوْحِيدُ فِي سَطْرٍ:

لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللَّهُ، مُحَمَّدٌ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ.  

Transliteration

law shuqqa ʿan qalbī yurā wasaṭahu
dhikruka wa-t-tawḥīdu fī saṭrin:
lā ilāha illā llāh, Muḥammadun rasūlu llāh.ﷺ

 

English translation

If my heart were opened, one would see at its center
your remembrance and the oneness of God on a single line:
“There is no god but God; Muhammad is the Messenger of God.”ﷺ

 

 B. Version in Jalāʾ al-Afhām fī Faḍl al-Ṣalāh wa-l-Salām ʿalā Muḥammad Khayr al-Anām

In Jalāʾ al-Afhām, Ibn al-Qayyim gives a slightly different form and then explains it. The relevant wording is:

 لَوْ شُقَّ قَلْبِي فَفِي وَسَطِهِ

ذِكْرُكَ وَالتَّوْحِيدُ فِي سَطْرٍ.

فَهٰذَا قَلْبُ الْمُؤْمِنِ: تَوْحِيدُ اللَّهِ وَذِكْرُ رَسُولِهِ مَكْتُوبَانِ فِيهِ، لَا يَتَطَرَّقُ إِلَيْهِمَا مَحْوٌ وَلَا إِزَالَةٌ.   

Transliteration

law shuqqa qalbī fa-fī wasaṭihi
dhikruka wa-t-tawḥīdu fī saṭrin.

fa-hādhā qalbu al-muʾmini: tawḥīdu llāhi wa-dhikru rasūlihi maktūbāni fīhi, lā yataṭarraqu ilayhimā maḥwun wa-lā izālatun.

 

English translation
 

If my heart were opened, then at its center
would be your ﷺ remembrance and the oneness of God on a single line.

Such is the heart of the believer: the oneness of God and the remembrance of His Messenger ﷺ are written within it; no erasure can reach them, and nothing can remove them.