The Colorful Rose – Allama Muhammad Iqbal

You are not troubled with solving enigmas 

O, beautiful Rose! nor do you have sublime feelings in your heart 
Though you ornament the assembly, still you flower apart 

In life’s assembly I am not permitted such comforts 
In my garden I am the complete orchestra of longing 

While your life is devoid of love’s passionate warmth 
To pluck you from the branch is not my custom 

I am not blinded by mere appearances 
O, colorful rose this hand is not your tormentor 

I am no callous flower picker! 
I am no intern to analyze you with scientific eyes 

Like a lover, I see you with nightingales’ eyes 
Despite your innumerable tongues, you have chosen silence 

What secrets, O Rose, lie concealed in your bosom? 
Like me you’re a leaf from the garden of Ñër 

Far from the garden I am, far from the garden we both are 
You are content, but I am a scattered fragrance 

Pierced by the sword of love in my quest 
This turmoil within me might be a means of fulfillment 

This torment, a source of illumination 
My frailty might be the beginning of strength 

My envy might mirror the cup of divination 
My constant vigil is a world-illuminating candle 

And teaches this steed, the human intellect, to gallop

The Himalayas – Allama Muhammad Iqbal

O Himalah! O rampart of the realm of India! 

Bowing down, the sky kisses your forehead 
Your condition does not show any signs of old age 

You are young in the midst of day and night’s alternation 
The Kalâm of ñër Sân« witnessed but one Effulgence 

For the discerning eye you are an embodiment of Effulgence 
To the outward eye you are a mere mountain range 

In reality you are our sentinel, you are India’s rampart 
You are the diwan whose opening verse is the sky 

You lead Man to the solitudes of his heart’s retreat 
Snow has endowed you with the turban of honour 

Which scoffs at the crown of the world-illuminating sun 
Antiquity is but a moment of your bygone age 

Dark clouds are encamped in your valleys 
Your peaks are matching with the pleiades in elegance 

Though you are standing on earth your abode is sky’s expanse 
The stream in your flank is a fast flowing mirror 

For which the breeze is working like a kerchief 
The mountain top’s lightning has given a whip 

In the hands of cloud for the ambling horse 
O Himalah! Are you like a theater stage 

Which nature’s hand has made for its elements? 
Ah! How the cloud is swaying in excessive joy 

The cloud like an unchained elephant is speeding 
Gentle movement of the morning zephyr is acting like a cradle 

Every flower bud is swinging with intoxication of existence 
The flower bud’s silence with the petal’s tongue is saying 

‘I have never experienced the jerk of the florist’s hand 
Silence itself is relating the tale of mine 

The corner of nature’s solitude is the abode of mine’ 
The brook is melodiously descending from the high land 

Putting the waves of Kawthar and Tasnâm to embarrassment 
As if showing the mirror to Nature’s beauty 

Now evading now rowing against the rock in its way 
Play in passing this orchestra of beautiful music 

O wayfarer! The heart comprehends your music 
When the night’s Lailah unfurls her long hair 

The sound of water-falls allures the heart 
That silence of the night whose beauty surpasses speech 

That state of silent meditation overshadowing the trees 
That dusk’s beauty which shivers along the mountain range 

Very beautiful looks this rouge on your cheeks 
O Himalah! Do relate to us some stories of the time 

When your valleys became abode of Man’s ancestors 
Relate something of the life without sophistication 

Which had not been stained by the rouge of sophistication 
O Imagination! Bring back that period 

O Vicissitudes of Time speed backwards