Allama Iqbal Poetry کلام علامہ محمد اقبال
(Bang-e-Dra-163) Tulu-e-Islam (طلوع اسلام) (The Rise of Islam)
Tulu-e-Islam
THE RISE OF ISLAM
The dimness of the stars is evidence of the
bright morning.
The sun has risen over the horizon; the time of
deep slumber has passed.
The blood of life runs in the veins of the dead
East:
Avicenna and Farabi cannot understand this
secret.
The storm in the West made Muslims Muslims.
Pearls are produced in abundance from the very
buffetings of the sea.
The true believers are once more to receive
from the court of God
The glory of the Turkamans, the intellect of
the Indians and the eloquence of the Arabs.
If there is still some trace of sleep left in
the buds, my nightingale,
Then make your songs more plaintive, for you
found their desire to hear your melody too little.
Whether your agitation be in the courtyard of
the garden, in the nest, in the leafy branches—
This quicksilver‐destiny cannot be separated
from mercury.
Why should that pure‐seeing eye look at the glitter
of armour on the horse
When it sees the valour of the holy warrior?
Make the lamp of desire bright in the heart of
the tulip!
Make every particle of the garden a martyr to
search!
The effect of the spring‐rain is born in the
tears of the Muslims.
Pearls will be born again in the sea of the
Friend of God.
This book of the Radiant Community is receiving
a new binding;
The Hashimite branch is once more ready to
bring forth new leaves and fruit.
The Turk of Shiraz has ravished the heart of
Tabriz and Kabul;
The morning breeze makes the scent of the rose
its companion on the road.
If a mountain of grief collapsed upon the
Ottomans, then why lament?
For the dawn arises from the blood of a hundred
thousand stars.
More difficult than the conquest of the world
is the task of seeing the world;
When the heart is reduced to blood, only then
does the eye of the heart receive its sight.
For a thousand years the narcissus has been
lamenting its blindness;
With great difficulty the one with true vision
is born in the garden.
Burst into song, oh nightingale! so that from
your melody
The spirit of the royal falcon may arise in the
delicate body of the dove!
The secret of life is hidden in your
breast—then tell it;
Tell the Muslims the account of the burning and
re‐making of life.
You are the ever‐powerful hand and the tongue
of the eternal God;
Give birth to certainty, of negligent one, for
your are laid low by doubt.
The goal of the Muslim lies beyond the blue
sky;
You are the caravan, which the stars follow as
dust on the road.
Space is transient; its inhabitants are
transitory, but the beginning of time is yours; its end is yours.
You are the final message of God; you are
eternal.
