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View Poll Results: Do u beleive Iqbal is the greatest poet n scholar of last century???
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  #111  
Old Wednesday, April 21, 2010
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Default ديا اقبال نے ہندي مسلمانوں کو سوز اپنا

مجھے آہ و فغان نيم شب کا پھر پيام آيا
تھم اے رہرو کہ شايد پھر کوئي مشکل مقام آيا

ذرا تقدير کي گہرائيوں ميں ڈوب جا تو بھي
کہ اس جنگاہ سے ميں بن کے تيغ بے نيام آيا

يہ مصرع لکھ ديا کس شوخ نے محراب مسجد پر
يہ ناداں گر گئے سجدوں ميں جب وقت قيام آيا

چل ، اے ميري غريبي کا تماشا ديکھنے والے
وہ محفل اٹھ گئي جس دم تو مجھ تک دور جام آيا

ديا اقبال نے ہندي مسلمانوں کو سوز اپنا
يہ اک مرد تن آساں تھا ، تن آسانوں کے کام آيا

اسي اقبال کي ميں جستجو کرتا رہا برسوں
بڑي مدت کے بعد آخر وہ شاہيں زير دام آيا


Translation

Explore the mysteries of’ fate, as I have done,
And have come out unscathed, a naked sword in the fight.

Someone audacious wrote on the mosque’s wall:
‘These fools prostrated, when it was time to stand.’

Do not be ashamed at my poverty— remember:
When the cup came round to me, all my comrades had gone.

Iqbal had only his passion to offer to India’s Muslims;
He was a complacent man. and served the likes of him.



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  #112  
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Default وہ آتش آج بھي تيرا نشيمن پھونک سکتي ہے

نہ ہو طغيان مشتاقي تو ميں رہتا نہيں باقي
کہ ميري زندگي کيا ہے ، يہي طغيان مشتاقي

مجھے فطرت نوا پر پے بہ پے مجبور کرتي ہے
ابھي محفل ميں ہے شايد کوئي درد آشنا باقي

وہ آتش آج بھي تيرا نشيمن پھونک سکتي ہے
طلب صادق نہ ہو تيري تو پھر کيا شکوئہ ساقي!

نہ کر افرنگ کا اندازہ اس کي تابناکي سے
کہ بجلي کے چراغوں سے ہے اس جوہر کي براقي

دلوں ميں ولولے آفاق گيري کے نہيں اٹھتے
نگاہوں ميں اگر پيدا نہ ہو انداز آفاقي

خزاں ميں بھي کب آسکتا تھا ميں صياد کي زد ميں
مري غماز تھي شاخ نشيمن کي کم اوراقي

الٹ جائيں گي تدبيريں ، بدل جائيں گي تقديريں
حقيقت ہے ، نہيں ميرے تخيل کي يہ خلاقي


Translation

This onrush of yearning—
I cannot live without it,
For the quintessence of my life
Is this onrush of yearning.

Nature doth impel me
To warble a song of the heart;
It strikes perhaps a chord
In some responsive hearts.

That Promethean Fire
Can always set thy soul ablaze.,
Blame not thy Maker
If thou lackest that fire.

Do not be glamourized
By the luminous flash of the West;
That flash is the blessing
Of incandescent lamps.

If thy eyes are not aflame
With a global vision,
Thy heart will not be stirred
By the passion to conquer the world.

A hunter’s prey I would not be
Even in winter’s wrath,
If my abode had not been
So meagre, so exposed.

It is not my fantasy,
But a truth revealed:
Orders will be toppled,
And fates will be topsy—turvy.



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  #113  
Old Friday, April 23, 2010
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Default کھوئي ہوئي شے کي جستجو کر

فطرت کو خرد کے روبرو کر
تسخير مقام رنگ و بو کر

تو اپني خودي کو کھو چکا ہے
کھوئي ہوئي شے کي جستجو کر

تاروں کي فضا ہے بيکرانہ
تو بھي يہ مقام آرزو کر

عرياں ہيں ترے چمن کي حوريں
چاک گل و لالہ کو رفو کر

بے ذوق نہيں اگرچہ فطرت
جو اس سے نہ ہو سکا ، وہ تو کر



Translation


Let thy reason be close to nature;
Conquer the world of beauty and sound.

Thou hast lost thy Selfhood, and now
Try thy best to capture it.

The starry world is fathomless;
Desire a world of equal expanse.

Nymphs in thy garden are nude;
The flower—petals are exposing too much!

Though nature is an artist of skill;
Do thou what it has left undone.






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  #114  
Old Saturday, April 24, 2010
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Default حد ادراک سے باہر ہيں باتيں عشق و مستي کي

يہ پيران کليسا و حرم ، اے وائے مجبوري!
صلہ ان کي کدوي کاوش کا ہے سينوں کي بے نوري

يقيں پيدا کر اے ناداں! يقيں سے ہاتھ آتي ہے
وہ درويشي ، کہ جس کے سامنے جھکتي ہے فغفوري

کبھي حيرت ، کبھي مستي ، کبھي آہ سحرگاہي
بدلتا ہے ہزاروں رنگ ميرا درد مہجوري

حد ادراک سے باہر ہيں باتيں عشق و مستي کي
سمجھ ميں اس قدر آيا کہ دل کي موت ہے ، دوري

وہ اپنے حسن کي مستي سے ہيں مجبور پيدائي
مري آنکھوں کي بينائي ميں ہيں اسباب مستوري

کوئي تقدير کي منطق سمجھ سکتا نہيں ورنہ
نہ تھے ترکان عثماني سے کم ترکان تيموري

فقيران حرم کے ہاتھ اقبال آگيا کيونکر
ميسر ميرو سلطاں کو نہيں شاہين کافوري



Translation


Alas! These men of church and mosque are known,
To do their best to make the soul benighted.

It is faith, and faith alone, that gives the power—
The power of the dervish, that conquers kings.

My soul’s yearning takes a thousand forms:
Wonder, and ecstasy, and plaints at dawn.

Heavenly love is beyond the pale of reason;
The pain of being estranged is the heart’s death.

His pride in Beauty makes Him show Himself,
But my eyes’ vision is the hindering veil.

The logic of destiny is beyond our ken;
As the losing Turks were no worse than the Ottomans.

How was Iqbal captured by the Holy Land fakirs?
This ethereal eagle has escaped even kings.




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  #115  
Old Saturday, April 24, 2010
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Post Zindagi

پرسیدم از بلند نگاہی حیات چیست
گفتا مئی کہ تلخ تر او نکوتر است
گفتم کہ کرمک است و ز کل سر برون زند
گفتا کہ شعلہ زاد مثال سمندر است
گفتم کہ شر بفطرت خامش نھادہ اند
گفتا کہ خیر او نشناسی ہمین شر است
گفتم کہ شوق سیر نبردش بمنزلی
گفتا کہ منزلش بہمین شوق مضمر است
گفتم کہ خاکی است و بخاکش ہمی دہند
گفتا چو دانہ خاک شکافد گل تر است


LIFE

I asked a man of wisdom, "What is life ?"
He said, "A brew, the bitterer the better."
I said, "A worm lodged in the rose’s heart."
He said, "A child of fire, a salamander."
I said "There’s evil in its make-up."
He said, "To see no good in it is wickeder."
I said, "Its love of wandering is goalless."
He said, "Its very goal it is to wander."
I said, "It comes from and returns to dust."
He said, "The seed bursts forth from dust a flower."
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  #116  
Old Sunday, April 25, 2010
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Default عقل عيار ہے ، سو بھيس بنا ليتي ہے

تازہ پھر دانش حاضر نے کيا سحر قديم
گزر اس عہد ميں ممکن نہيں بے چوب کليم

عقل عيار ہے ، سو بھيس بنا ليتي ہے
عشق بے چارہ نہ ملا ہے نہ زاہد نہ حکيم!

عيش منزل ہے غريبان محبت پہ حرام
سب مسافر ہيں ، بظاہر نظر آتے ہيں مقيم

ہے گراں سير غم راحلہ و زاد سے تو
کوہ و دريا سے گزر سکتے ہيں مانند نسيم

مرد درويش کا سرمايہ ہے آزادي و مرگ
ہے کسي اور کي خاطر يہ نصاب زر و سيم



Translation


Reason has devised again the magic of ancient days;
What the magic needs, is a new Moses’ wand.

The intellect, in its cunning. assumes a thousand shapes;
But love, a simpleton, is not a mullah, nor is wise.

Travellers on the path of love should deny themselves a goal;
We are all travellers, but seem to have a home.

Grieve not about thy equipment in travel,
Mountains and rivers can be crossed like a breeze.

The dervish’s asset is freedom on his death;
This silver and gold ‘nisab’ is not the law for him.



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  #117  
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Default حضرت انسان

حضرت انسان

جہاں ميں دانش و بينش کي ہے کس درجہ ارزاني
کوئي شے چھپ نہيں سکتي کہ يہ عالم ہے نوراني

کوئي ديکھے تو ہے باريک فطرت کا حجاب اتنا
نماياں ہيں فرشتوں کے تبسم ہائے پنہاني

يہ دنيا دعوت ديدار ہے فرزند آدم کو
کہ ہر مستور کو بخشا گيا ہے ذوق عرياني

يہي فرزند آدم ہے کہ جس کے اشک خونيں سے
کيا ہے حضرت يزداں نے درياؤں کو طوفاني

فلک کو کيا خبر يہ خاکداں کس کا نشيمن ہے
غرض انجم سے ہے کس کے شبستاں کي نگہباني

اگر مقصود کل ميں ہوں تو مجھ سے ماورا کيا ہے
مرے ہنگامہ ہائے نو بہ نو کي انتہا کيا ہے؟





THE HUMAN BEING

In world in plenty is wisdom and sight,
None can be hidden as the world has light.

So thin are nature veils if one gets eye,
So vivid are angels smiling on sky.

This world gives a call to man for His sight,
Each hid, given taste, to come to limelight.

This is Adam’s son, from his tears of blood,
The God gave to rivers a taste for flood.

Who lives on this earth what does the sky know,
For whom a night watch? For whom the stars glow?

What lies beyond me? If I’m the whole aim!
What is the new pale of my uproars game.
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Default تو شاہيں ہے ، پرواز ہے کام تيرا

ستاروں سے آگے جہاں اور بھي ہيں
ابھي عشق کے امتحاں اور بھي ہيں

تہي ، زندگي سے نہيں يہ فضائيں
يہاں سينکڑوں کارواں اور بھي ہيں

قناعت نہ کر عالم رنگ و بو پر
چمن اور بھي آشياں اور بھي ہيں

اگر کھو گيا اک نشيمن تو کيا غم
مقامات آہ و فغاں اور بھي ہيں

تو شاہيں ہے ، پرواز ہے کام تيرا
ترے سامنے آسماں اور بھي ہيں

اسي روز و شب ميں الجھ کر نہ رہ جا
کہ تيرے زمان و مکاں اور بھي ہيں

گئے دن کہ تنہا تھا ميں انجمن ميں
يہاں اب مرے رازداں اور بھي ہيں


Translation

Beyond the stars there are
Other worlds of light;
There are more trials of love,
Besides those on earth.

These spheres are not
Empty of the pulse of life;
There are a hundred forms of life,
Latent in these spheres.

Be not content with this earth,
Though it has a myriad colours;
There are rose—embowered gardens,
Ethereal abodes for thee;

Grieve not if thou losest
This abode of sorrow;
There are other abodes for thee,
For the sighs of yearning and grief.

Thou art of eagle breed,
Born for ethereal flights;
Thou hast, beyond those narrowing skies,
Loftier heavens to roam.

Do not get entangled
In these deceptive days and nights.;
Thou has other worlds,
Beyond linear time and space.



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Default آہ کہ کھويا گيا تجھ سے فقيري کا راز

ڈھونڈ رہا ہے فرنگ عيش جہاں کا دوام
وائے تمنائے خام ، وائے تمنائے خام!

پير حرم نے کہا سن کے مري روئداد
پختہ ہے تيري فغاں ، اب نہ اسے دل ميں تھام

تھا ارني گو کليم ، ميں ارني گو نہيں
اس کو تقاضا روا ، مجھ پہ تقاضا حرام

گرچہ ہے افشائے راز ، اہل نظر کي فغاں
ہو نہيں سکتا کبھي شيوہ رندانہ عام

حلقہ صوفي ميں ذکر ، بے نم و بے سوز و ساز
ميں بھي رہا تشنہ کام ، تو بھي رہا تشنہ کام

عشق تري انتہا ، عشق مري انتہا
تو بھي ابھي ناتمام ، ميں بھي ابھي ناتمام

آہ کہ کھويا گيا تجھ سے فقيري کا راز
ورنہ ہے مال فقير سلطنت روم و شام


Translation

The West seeks to make life a perpetual feast;
A wish in vain, in vain, in vain!

Aware of my state, my spiritual guide assures me,
Thy ecstasy has reached the plenitude of its power.

Moses asked for a Divine glimpse, but I do not:
The demand was right for him; but is forbidden for me.

The plaint of the men of God betrays a suppressed secret;
But the ways of the men of God are not meant for all.

Zikr in the Sufis’ circle was devoid of ecstasy,
I remained unsatisfied, and so was everyone.

Love is thy goal, and mine, too, but both
Are so far novices on the path of love.

Alas! Thou hast betrayed the secret of a fakir,
Though a fakir has wealth more than a king of men.




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Default غريب و سادہ و رنگيں ہے داستان حرم

خودي ہو علم سے محکم تو غيرت جبريل
اگر ہو عشق سے محکم تو صور اسرافيل

عذاب دانش حاضر سے باخبر ہوں ميں
کہ ميں اس آگ ميں ڈالا گيا ہوں مثل خليل

فريب خوردہ منزل ہے کارواں ورنہ
زيادہ راحت منزل سے ہے نشاط رحيل

نظر نہيں تو مرے حلقہ سخن ميں نہ بيٹھ
کہ نکتہ ہائے خودي ہيں مثال تيغ اصيل

مجھے وہ درس فرنگ آج ياد آتے ہيں
کہاں حضور کي لذت ، کہاں حجاب دليل!

اندھيري شب ہے ، جدا اپنے قافلے سے ہے تو
ترے ليے ہے مرا شعلہ نوا ، قنديل

غريب و سادہ و رنگيں ہے داستان حرم
نہايت اس کي حسين ، ابتدا ہے اسمعيل


Translation


Selfhood is Gabriel’s power,
If fortified by learning;
And Israfeel’s trumpet,
If fortified by love.,

I am aware of the torture
Of the inferno of modern reason,
For I was hurled into its fire,
Like Abraham the blessed.

The caravan is deluded:
It seeks a place of rest,
Though the pleasure of a journey
Is greater than that of the goal.

I do remember now
Discourses in the West;
That was the veil of logic;
This is the joy of Presence.

These secrets of Selfhood are
A sword burnished bright;
So join not my circle,
Without a keener vision.

Thou art alone, abandoned,
In the night’s darkness;
My flame—begotten song
Is for thee a beacon of light.

The Holy Land’s story
Is colourful, simple, strange;
It begins with Isma’il,
And ends with Hussain.





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