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View Poll Results: Do u beleive Iqbal is the greatest poet n scholar of last century???
Yes 43 91.49%
No 3 6.38%
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Multiple Choice Poll. Voters: 47. You may not vote on this poll

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  #221  
Old Wednesday, July 14, 2010
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Default لينن خدا کے حضور ميں

اے انفس و آفاق ميں پيدا ترے آيات
حق يہ ہے کہ ہے زندہ و پائندہ تري ذات
ميں کيسے سمجھتا کہ تو ہے يا کہ نہيں ہے
ہر دم متغير تھے خرد کے نظريات
محرم نہيں فطرت کے سرود ازلي سے
بينائے کواکب ہو کہ دانائے نباتات
آج آنکھ نے ديکھا تو وہ عالم ہوا ثابت
ميں جس کو سمجھتا تھا کليسا کے خرافات
ہم بند شب و روز ميں جکڑے ہوئے بندے
تو خالق اعصار و نگارندہ آنات!
اک بات اگر مجھ کو اجازت ہو تو پوچھوں
حل کر نہ سکے جس کو حکيموں کے مقالات
جب تک ميں جيا خيمہ افلاک کے نيچے
کانٹے کي طرح دل ميں کھٹکتي رہي يہ بات
گفتار کے اسلوب پہ قابو نہيں رہتا
جب روح کے اندر متلاطم ہوں خيالات
وہ کون سا آدم ہے کہ تو جس کا ہے معبود
وہ آدم خاکي کہ جو ہے زير سماوات؟
مشرق کے خداوند سفيدان فرنگي
مغرب کے خداوند درخشندہ فلزات
يورپ ميں بہت روشني علم و ہنر ہے
حق يہ ہے کہ بے چشمہ حيواں ہے يہ ظلمات
رعنائي تعمير ميں ، رونق ميں ، صفا ميں
گرجوں سے کہيں بڑھ کے ہيں بنکوں کي عمارات
ظاہر ميں تجارت ہے ، حقيقت ميں جوا ہے
سود ايک کا لاکھوں کے ليے مرگ مفاجات
يہ علم ، يہ حکمت ، يہ تدبر ، يہ حکومت
پيتے ہيں لہو ، ديتے ہيں تعليم مساوات
بے کاري و عرياني و مے خواري و افلاس
کيا کم ہيں فرنگي مدنيت کے فتوحات
وہ قوم کہ فيضان سماوي سے ہو محروم
حد اس کے کمالات کي ہے برق و بخارات
ہے دل کے ليے موت مشينوں کي حکومت
احساس مروت کو کچل ديتے ہيں آلات
آثار تو کچھ کچھ نظر آتے ہيں کہ آخر
تدبير کو تقدير کے شاطر نے کيا مات
ميخانے کي بنياد ميں آيا ہے تزلزل
بيٹھے ہيں اسي فکر ميں پيران خرابات
چہروں پہ جو سرخي نظر آتي ہے سر شام
يا غازہ ہے يا ساغر و مينا کي کرامات
تو قادر و عادل ہے مگر تيرے جہاں ميں
ہيں تلخ بہت بندہ مزدور کے اوقات
کب ڈوبے گا سرمايہ پرستي کا سفينہ؟
دنيا ہے تري منتظر روز مکافات


Translation

ALL space and all that breathes bear witness; truth
It is indeed; Thou art, and dost remain.
How could I know that God was or was not,
Where Reason's reckonings shifted hour by hour?
The peerer at planets, the counter-up of plants,
Heard nothing there of Nature's infinite music;
To-day I witnessing acknowledge realms
That I once thought the mummery of the Church.
We, manacled in the chains of day and night!
Thou, moulder of all time's atoms, builder of aeons
Let me have leave to ask this question, one
Not answered by the subtleties of the schools,
That while I lived under the sky-tent's roof
Like a thorn rankled in my heart, and made
Such chaos in my soul of all its thoughts
I could not keep my tumbling words in bounds.
Oh, of what mortal race art Thou the God?
Those creatures formed of dust beneath these heavens?
Europe's pale checks are Asia's pantheon,
And Europe's pantheon her glittering metals.
A blaze of art and science lights the West
With darkness that no Fountain of Life dispels;
In high-reared grace, in glory and in grandeur,
The towering Bank out-tops the cathedral roof;
What they call commerce is a game of dice
For one, profit, for millions swooping death.
There science, philosophy, scholarship, government,
Preach man's equality and drink men's blood;
Naked debauch, and want, and unemployment
Are these mean triumphs of the Frankish arts
Denied celestial grace a nation goes
No further than electricity or steam
Death to the heart, machines stand sovereign,
Engines that crush all sense of human kindness.
-Yet signs are counted here and there that Fate,
The chess-player has check-mated all their cunning.
The Tavern shakes, its warped foundations crack,
The Old Men of Europe sit there numb with fear;
What twilight flush is left those faces now
Is paint and powder, or lent by flask and cup.
Omnipotent, righteous, Thou; but bitter the hours,
Bitter the labourer's chained hours in Thy world!
When shall this galley of gold's dominion founder?
Thy world Thy day of wrath, Lord, stands and waits.



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  #222  
Old Wednesday, July 14, 2010
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"Batil du-ee pasand hay haq la sharik hay
shirkat miyan-e haq-o-batil na kar qubool"



"Batil (as opposed to Haq; the Truth) likes to compromise but Haq is uncompromising. Do not accept the middle ground between Haq and Batil."
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  #223  
Old Thursday, July 15, 2010
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Default فرشتوں کاگيت

عقل ہے بے زمام ابھي ، عشق ہے بے مقام ابھي
نقش گر ، ازل! ترا نقش ہے نا تمام ابھي
خلق خدا کي گھات ميں رند و فقيہ و مير و پير
تيرے جہاں ميں ہے وہي گردش صبح و شام ابھي
تيرے امير مال مست ، تيرے فقير حال مست
بندہ ہے کوچہ گرد ابھي ، خواجہ بلند بام ابھي
دانش و دين و علم و فن بندگي ہوس تمام
عشق گرہ کشاے کا فيض نہيں ہے عام ابھي
جوہر زندگي ہے عشق ، جوہر عشق ہے خودي
آہ کہ ہے يہ تيغ تيز پردگي نيام ابھي
!

فرمان خدا
فرشتوں سے


اٹھو ! مري دنيا کے غريبوں کو جگا دو
کاخ امرا کے در و ديوار ہلا دو
گرماؤ غلاموں کا لہو سوز يقيں سے
کنجشک فرومايہ کو شاہيں سے لڑا دو
سلطاني جمہور کا آتا ہے زمانہ
جو نقش کہن تم کو نظر آئے ، مٹا دو
جس کھيت سے دہقاں کو ميسر نہيں روزي
اس کھيت کے ہر خوشہ گندم کو جلا دو
کيوں خالق و مخلوق ميں حائل رہيں پردے
پيران کليسا کو کليسا سے اٹھا دو
حق را بسجودے ، صنماں را بطوافے
بہتر ہے چراغ حرم و دير بجھا دو
ميں ناخوش و بيزار ہوں مرمر کي سلوں سے
ميرے ليے مٹي کا حرم اور بنا دو
تہذيب نوي کارگہ شيشہ گراں ہے
آداب جنوں شاعر مشرق کو سکھا دو


Translation

SONG OF THE ANGLES

Reason is unbridled yet,
Love is still a dream;
Thy work remains unfinished still,
O Craftsman of Eternity!

The days and nights revolve,
Unfolding evils new;
The rulers of body and soul,
Are ruthless tyrants, all.

The rich are drunk with wealth;
The pious are drunk with piety;
The homeless wander in the streets,
The lords of palaces are Olympian.

Learning, religion, art and science,
Are all slaves of greed;
Thy love that solves all riddles,
Has yet to shower its blessings.


GOD'S COMMAND TO HIS ANGELS

RISE, and from their slumber wake the poor ones of My world
Shake the walis and windows of the mansions of the great!
Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of the slaves
Make the fearful sparrow bold to meet the falcon's hate!
Close the hour approaches of the kingdom of the poor—
Every imprint of the past find and annihilate!
Find the field whose harvest is no peasant's daily bread—
Garner in the furnace every ripening ear of wheat!
Banish from the house of God the mumbling priest whose prayers
Like a veil creation from Creator separate!
God by mm's prostrations, by man's vows are idols cheated-.
Quench at once in My shrine and their fane the sacred light!
Rear for me another temple, build its walls with mud—
Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened is My sight!
All their fine new world a workshop filled with brittle glass-
Go! My poet of the East to madness dedicate.



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  #224  
Old Friday, July 16, 2010
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Default ذوق و شوق

دريغ آمدم زاں ہمہ بوستاں
تہي دست رفتن سوئے دوستاں
قلب و نظر کي زندگي دشت ميں صبح کا سماں
چشمہ آفتاب سے نور کي ندياں رواں
حسن ازل کي ہے نمود ، چاک ہے پردئہ وجود
دل کے ليے ہزار سود ايک نگاہ کا زياں
سرخ و کبود بدلياں چھوڑ گيا سحاب شب
کوہ اضم کو دے گيا رنگ برنگ طيلساں
گرد سے پاک ہے ہوا ، برگ نخيل دھل گئے
ريگ نواح کاظمہ نرم ہے مثل پرنياں
آگ بجھي ہوئي ادھر ، ٹوٹي ہوئي طناب ادھر
کيا خبر اس مقام سے گزرے ہيں کتنے کارواں
آئي صدائے جبرئيل ، تيرا مقام ہے يہي
اہل فراق کے ليے عيش دوام ہے يہي
کس سے کہوں کہ زہر ہے ميرے ليے م ے حيات
کہنہ ہے بزم کائنات ، تازہ ہيں ميرے واردات
کيا نہيں اور غزنوي کارگہ حيات ميں
بيٹھے ہيں کب سے منتظر اہل حرم کے سومنات
ذکر عرب کے سوز ميں ، فکر عجم کے ساز ميں
نے عربي مشاہدات ، نے عجمي تخيلات
قافلہء حجاز ميں ايک حسين بھي نہيں
گرچہ ہے تاب دار ابھي گيسوئے دجلہ و فرات
عقل و دل و نگاہ کا مرشد اوليں ہے عشق
عشق نہ ہو تو شرع و ديں بت کدئہ تصورات
صدق خليل بھي ہے عشق ، صبر حسين بھي ہے عشق
معرکہء وجود ميں بدر و حنين بھي ہے عشق
آيہء کائنات کا معني دير ياب تو
نکلے تري تلاش ميں قافلہ ہائے رنگ و بو
جلوتيان مدرسہ کور نگاہ و مردہ ذوق
خلوتيان مے کدہ کم طلب و تہي کدو
ميں کہ مري غزل ميں ہے آتش رفتہ کا سراغ
ميري تمام سرگزشت کھوئے ہوؤں کي جستجو
باد صبا کي موج سے نشوونمائے خار و خس
ميرے نفس کي موج سے نشوونمائے آرزو
خون دل و جگر سے ہے ميري نوا کي پرورش
ہے رگ ساز ميں رواں صاحب ساز کا لہو
فرصت کشمکش مدہ ايں دل بے قرار را
يک دو شکن زيادہ کن گيسوے تابدار را
لوح بھي تو ، قلم بھي تو ، تيرا وجود الکتاب
گنبد آبگينہ رنگ تيرے محيط ميں حباب
عالم آب و خاک ميں تيرے ظہور سے فروغ
ذرہ ريگ کو ديا تو نے طلوع آفتاب
شوکت سنجر و سليم تيرے جلال کي نمود
فقر جنيد و بايزيد تيرا جمال بے نقاب
شوق ترا اگر نہ ہو ميري نماز کا امام
ميرا قيام بھي حجاب ، ميرا سجود بھي حجاب
تيري نگاہ ناز سے دونوں مراد پا گئے
عقل غياب و جستجو ، عشق حضور و اضطراب
تيرہ و تار ہے جہاں گردش آفتاب سے
طبع زمانہ تازہ کر جلوئہ بے حجاب سے
تيري نظر ميں ہيں تمام ميرے گزشتہ روز و شب
مجھ کو خبر نہ تھي کہ ہے علم نخيل بے رطب
تازہ مرے ضمير ميں معرکہء کہن ہوا
عشق تمام مصطفي ، عقل تمام بولہب
گاہ بحيلہ مي برد ، گاہ بزور مي کشد
عشق کي ابتدا عجب ، عشق کي انتہا عجب
عالم سوز و ساز ميں وصل سے بڑھ کے ہے فراق
وصل ميں مرگ آرزو ، ہجر ميں لذت طلب
عين وصال ميں مجھے حوصلہء نظر نہ تھا
گرچہ بہانہ جو رہي ميري نگاہ بے ادب
گرمي آرزو فراق ، شورش ہاے و ہو فراق
موج کي جستجو فراق ، قطرے کي آبرو فراق


ECSTASY
(Most of these Verses Were Written in Palestine)

The morning sun’s silver beams
Are absorbed in the sand;
The eyes are bathed in radiance;
The mind is lost in thought.

Eternal beauty is revealed,
And life’s image unveiled;
The heart is softened in ravishment,
The eyes are dazed by the sun.

The night clouds are drifting,
In scattered colours on the hill;
The balmy air has bathed the trees,
And the sand is soft as silk.

Ashes of a fire, and ropes of tents,
Is all that remains behind—
The only imprints that the caravans
Have left behind as they marched.

The storm that has been raging
In my heart of late,
Has turned life’s wine
Into a poisonous potion.

The temples reared by holy men
Are waiting to be demolished;
Is there no idol-breaker new-born—
No Ghaznavi in the battlefield?

There is neither Arab passion,
Nor Ajami refinement,
In the deeds of the one,
In the thought of the other.

The regions of Euphrates
Have waited, and waited in vain,
For a martyr like Hussain,
On a death-defying march.

Love is the mentor of the eye,
Of the heart and reason;
Faith without love
Is a pantheon of fantasies.

Love is Abraham’s faith;
Love is Hussain’s endurance;
Love is Badr and Hunayn,
On the battlefield of life.

Of this varied world
Thou art the meaning long sought—
Long sought by multitudes of men,
From every corner of the earth.

The disciples in tile schools
Are insipid and purblind;
The esoteric few
Have an empty unseening soul.

My song seeks to recapture
The flame that has been lost—
To rediscover the great
And noble souls of the past.

As the breeze infuses
Life into the green earth,
My fire-breathing song
Infuses passion into men.

It is my life-blood
That nourishes my song;
The harpist’s blood streams
In the strings of the harp.

Let not this anxious heart of mine
Have a spasm to struggle;
Bright are Thy tresses,
Brighten them even more.

Thou writest my book of fate;
Thou art my arbiter;
The starlit dome, in its expanse,
Is but a bubble in Thy sea.

The myriad-coloured earth
Is illumined by Thee;
Thou makest even a piece of sand
As radiant as the sun.

The majesty of’ kings
Is but a reflection of Thy power;
The sanctity of pious men
Is a mirror of Thy beauty.

If my prayer is not inspired
By a love of Thee,
My prayer is futile,
My bowing to Thee is a pose.

To my reason Thou didst give
The quest born of Absence,
And to my love for Thee,
Thy Presence and anxiety.

The earth is dark, benighted,
Revolving round the old sun,
Bring the dawn of life to the earth,
With Thy glimpse unveiled.

Thou knowest all about
My past and my present;
I had not known that knowledge
Is a tree without fruit.

That old battle was raged
In my heart again,
Between love, which is all good,
And reason, which is all evil.

Love has a strange beginning,
And a strange end—
It snatches by excuses sometimes,
And drags by force at others.

In the world of passion,
Absence is greater than Presence,
Absence is the pleasure of yearning,
Presence is desire’s death.

In fulfilment in the past.,
Perception I had none;
Though my audacious eye
Was looking for pretences.

The wave’s enduring quest,
The rain-drop’s search to be a pearl,
The heart’s eternal yearning,
Are all before fulfilment.



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Sajdon k ewaz Jannat-e- Fardoos miley ye baat mujhe Manzoor nhi,
Bey los ibadat krta hoon,tera bunda hun tera Mazdoor nhi...
Allama Iqabal
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"Manf-e-at ek hai is qaum ki nuqsaan bhi ek
ek hi sab ka nabi deen bhi iman bhi ek
harame paak bhi Allah bhi Quran bhi ek
kuchh bari baat thi hote jo Musalman bhi ek"


"There is one common gain and one common loss for all Muslims. (Remember the Prophet’s hadith that all Muslims are like a body.) One Prophet (PBUH) for all and one Iman for all. One Ka’aba, one Allah and one Qur’an for all. How great it would be if Muslims also were one!"
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  #227  
Old Sunday, July 18, 2010
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Default پروانہ اور جگنو

پروانہ
پروانے کي منزل سے بہت دور ہے جگنو
کيوں آتش بے سوز پہ مغرور ہے جگنو
جگنو
اللہ کا سو شکر کہ پروانہ نہيں ميں
دريوزہ گر آتش بيگانہ نہيں ميں





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"Firqa bandi hay kaheen aur kaheen zatein hain
kya zamane mein panapne ki yahee batein hain"


"Somewhere are religious divisions and somewhere are differences based on caste. Is this the way to prosper in the world?"
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ابر کوہسار



ہے بلندي سے فلک بوس نشيمن ميرا
ابر کہسار ہوں گل پاش ہے دامن ميرا

کبھي صحرا ، کبھي گلزار ہے مسکن ميرا
شہر و ويرانہ مرا ، بحر مرا ، بن ميرا

کسي وادي ميں جو منظور ہو سونا مجھ کو
سبزہ کوہ ہے مخمل کا بچھونا مجھ کو

مجھ کو قدرت نے سکھايا ہے درافشاں ہونا
ناقہ شاہد رحمت کا حدي خواں ہونا

غم زدائے دل افسردہ دہقاں ہونا
رونق بزم جوانان گلستاں ہونا

بن کے گيسو رخ ہستي پہ بکھر جاتا ہوں
شانہ موجہ صرصر سے سنور جاتا ہوں

دور سے ديدہ اميد کو ترساتا ہوں
کسي بستي سے جو خاموش گزر جاتا ہوں

سير کرتا ہوا جس دم لب جو آتا ہوں
بالياں نہر کو گرداب کي پہناتا ہوں

سبزہ مزرع نوخيز کي اميد ہوں ميں
زادہ بحر ہوں پروردہ خورشيد ہوں ميں

چشمہ کوہ کو دي شورش قلزم ميں نے
اور پرندوں کو کيا محو ترنم ميں نے

سر پہ سبزے کے کھڑے ہو کے کہا قم ميں نے
غنچہ گل کو ديا ذوق تبسم ميں نے

فيض سے ميرے نمونے ہيں شبستانوں کے
جھونپڑے دامن کہسار ميں دہقانوں کے
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Robina Qadeer (Monday, July 19, 2010)
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Default جاويد کے نام

خودي کے ساز ميں ہے عمر جاوداں کا سراغ
خودي کے سوز سے روشن ہيں امتوں کے چراغ

يہ ايک بات کہ آدم ہے صاحب مقصود
ہزار گونہ فروغ و ہزار گونہ فراغ!

ہوئي نہ زاغ ميں پيدا بلند پروازي
خراب کر گئي شاہيں بچے کو صحبت زاغ

حيا نہيں ہے زمانے کي آنکھ ميں باقي
خدا کرے کہ جواني تري رہے بے داغ

ٹھہر سکا نہ کسي خانقاہ ميں اقبال
کہ ہے ظريف و خوش انديشہ و شگفتہ دماغ


TO JAVID


A nation’s life is illumined by Selfhood,
Selfhood is the pathway to everlasting life.

Earth-bound crows cannot aspire to the cagle’s flights,
But they corrupt the eagle’s lofty, noble habits.

May God make thee a virtuous, blameless youth;
Thou livest in an age deprived of decency.

Iqbal was not at ease in a monastery,
For he is bright, and sprightly, and full of wit


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