Dr.Allama Mohammad Iqbal And Maulana Rumi
The secret of the Self is hid,
In words "No god but He alone".
The Self is just a dull-edged sword,
"No god but He," the grinding stone.
An Abraham by the age is sought
To break the idols of this Hall:
The avowal of God's Oneness can
Make all these idols headlong fall.
A bargain you have struck for goods
Of life, a step, that smacks conceit,
All save the Call "No god but He"
Is merely fraught with fraud and deceit.
The worldly wealth and riches too,
Ties of blood and friends a dream
The idols wrought by doubts untrue,
All save God's Oneness empty seem.
The mind has worn the holy thread
Of Time and Space like pagans all
Though Time and Space both illusive
"No god but He" is true withal.
These melodious songs are not confined
To Time when rose and tulip bloom
Whatever the season of year be
"No god but He" must ring till doom.
Many idols are still concealed'
In their sleeves by the Faithful Fold,
I am ordained by Mighty God
To raise the call and be much bold.
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From, O'Saqi
The Muslim says that God is One
But his heart is Still a heathen:
Culture, sufism, rites and rthetoric,
All adore non- Arab idols;
The truth was lost in trifles,
And the nation was lost in conventions.
The speaker’s rhetoric is enchanting,
But is devoid of passion;
It is clothed in logic neat,
But lost in a maze of words;
The sufi, unique in the love of truth,
Unique in the love of God,
Was lost in un-Islamic thought;
Was lost in the hierarchic quest;
The fire of love is extinguished,
And a Muslim is a heap of ashes,
O Saqi! Give me the old wine again!
Let the potent cup go round!
Let me soar on the wings of love;
Make my dust bright-pinioned;
Make wisdom free;
And make the young guide the old;
Thou it is that nourishest. this nation;
Thou it is that canst sustain it;
Urge them to move, to stir;
Give them Ali’s heart; give them Siddiq’s passion;
Let the same old love pierce their hearts;
Awaken in them a burning zeal;
Let the stars throw down their spears,
And let the earth’s dwellers tremble—
Give the young a passion that consumes;
Give them my vision, my love of God;
Free my boat from the whirlpool’s grip,
And make it move forward-,
Reveal to me the secrets of life,
For thou knowest them all;
The treasures of a fakir like me
Are suffused, unsleeping eyes,
And secret yearnings of the heart-,
My anguished sighs at night,
My solitude in the world of men,
My hopes and my fears,
My quest untiring,
My nature an arena of thought—
A mirror of the world.
My heart a battlefield of life,
With armies of suspicion,
And bastions of certitude;
With these treasures I am
More rich than the richest of all.
Let the young join my throng,
And let them find an anchor of hope.
The sea of life has its ebb and flow-,
In every atom’s heart is the pulse of life;
It manifests itself in the body,
As a flame conceals a wave of smoke;
Contact with the earth was harsh for it,
But it liked the labour;
It is in motion, and not in motion;
Tired of the elements’ shackles;
A unity, imprisoned by plurality;
But always unique, unequalled.
It has made this dome of myriad glass;
It has carved this pantheon.
It does not repeat its craft—
For thou art not me, and I am not thou;
It has created the world of men,
And remains in solitude,
Its brightness is seen in the stars,
And in the lustre of pearls-,
To it belong the wildernesses,
Maulana Rumi;
My heart is your student; it studies love,
And, like the night, waits at the gates of dawn.
Where I go, I follow where love's face leads
Because oil flows to the flame that it feeds.
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