Every object is at strife in the desire to "be"
Churning in time, "the process of becoming"
Every particle must sacrifice the ego to mill
Listening to the call, enabling Divine Will
Death in "itself" is the desire to "live"
Eternity is in giving away to rebuild
The mountains squash at the will of self
The meek perceive a mound a hill
Wandering hither and thither the lowly stars
Are but lost in the vastness of heaven,
To realize oneself, one has to part
It is the destiny, for existence, for non-being.
The moon is pale; loosing glamour at the last stretch
All secrets told, is stripped off into void
Soon the demons of dark will engulf the bright.
Why looking for a phantom light...?
Thy lamp is thy heart, O' forlorn
Leave the sojourn, thee, thyself is the guide.
Thou art real, the only truth in heaven,
On the earth; the whole universe's might.
Resting in a world of fabricated illusion,
Deserts are but for an infinite exploration
Thorns bear witness to a searching soul
How limited is the effort to grow one Rose
Yet, ye complain scarcity of the resource.
Mercy O benevolent, the most compassionate Lord.
Upon the ignorant, the sinful, and the tyrant
I urge to see an oasis, not an iced spring at a stronghold.
Ode No XXX1 from Bang-i-D'rra of Muhammad Iqbal. Translated from Urdu by Seema Arif.
Seema Arif is an assistant professor of Business Administration, University of Central Punjab, Lahore, Pakistan.