|Once more I feel the urge to wail and weep at dead of night:|
O traveller, stop a bit, perchance I face some awful site.
|Awhile in dark abyss of Fate dive and see beneath:|
Out of this battlefield I come like sword out of the sheath.
|This verse some man with witty mind on niche of mosque did write:|
“These fools fell prostrate on the earth, when it was time to fight.”
|O man, who at my misery scoff, follow the road you tread:|
When the cup to me was passed, the gathering all had fled.
|Iqbal his glow to Muslims lent, who in India dwell:|
An easy-going man he was and served the sluggards well.
|o find Iqbal for years on end I did chafe and fret:|
By effort great that kingly hawk has come within my net.
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah