(Written in Europe)
|My mind on me bestowed a thinker’s gaze,|
From Love I learnt a toper’s wont and ways.
|No wine, no flask, no goblet goes around,|
Sweet looks to banquet lend its hue and sound.
|Take not my rhymes for poet’s art,|
I know the secrets of wine-seller’s mart.
|Behold the bud athirst for breath of Morn,|
It tells the story of my heart forlorn.
|Know not, absence or presence if it be,|
I am the alien here, all others free.
|My stay in West I may prolong a bit,|
My frenzy if this desert will admit.
|The stage of mind by Iqbal soon was crost,|
But in the Vale of Love this sage was lost.
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah