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O dejected nightingale your lament is immature still
You should hold it in your breast for a little while still |
If Intellect is prudent it is considered mature
If Love is prudent it is considered immature still |
Love fearlessly jumped into the fire of Namrud
Intellect is absorbed in the spectacle from roof-top still |
Love moves fast in action under the messenger’s precept
Intellect has not even understood the Love’s message still |
The way of Love is freedom and world revolution
You are imprisoned in day and night’s temple still |
On the plea of temperance the cup-bearer says rudely
In your heart is the same anxiety for the end still |
Constant struggle is the measure for life’s Kamm and Kaif
Your measure is the counting of days and nights still |
O spring rain! How long this miserliness?
The tulips of my hillside are thirsty still |
They are accustomed to `Ajam’s wine I have the `Arab wine
My cup makes wine-drinkers startled still |
Zepheyr has brought news about Iqbal from the garden
The newly seized is writhing under the net still. |
Translated by: M.A.K. Khalil |
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