رموزِ بیخودی
(اقبال)
عرض حال مصنف بحضور رحمة للعالمین
The authors memorial to Him who is a mercy to all living beings
O THOU, whose manifesting was the youth
Of strenuous life, whose bright epiphany
Told the interpretation of liefs dreams,
Earth attained honour, having held thy court,
And heaven glory, having kissed thy roof.
Thy face illumes the six-directioned world;
Turk, Tajik, Arab all thy servants are.
Whatever things have being, find in thee
True exaltation, and thy poverty
Is their abundant riches. In this world
Thou litst the lamp of life, as thou didst teach
Gods servitors a godly mastery.
Without thee, whatsoever form indwelt
This habitat of water and of clay
Was put to shame in utter bankruptcy;
Till, when thy breath drew fire from the cold dust
And Adam made of earths dead particles,
Each atom caught the skirts of sun and moon,
Suddenly conscious of its inward strength.
Since first my gaze alighted on thy face
Dearer than father and dear mother thou
Art grown to me. Thy love hath lit a flame
Within my heart; ah, let it work at ease.
For all my spirit is consumed in me,
And my sole chattel is a reed like sigh,
The lantern flickering in my ruined house.
It is not possible not to declare
This hidden grief; it is not possible
To veil the wine in the translucent cup.
But now the Muslim is estranged a new
Unto the Prophets secret; now once more
Gods sanctuary is an idols shrine;
Manat and Lat, Hubal and Uzzae/ach118
Carries an idol to his bosom clasped;
Our sheikh no Brahman is so infidel,
Seeking his somnath stands within his head.119
Arabia deserted, he is gone
With all his beings baggage, slumberous
To drowse in Persia wine- vault. Persias sleet
Has set his limbs a-shiver; his thin wine
Rune colder than his tears. As timorous
Of death as any infidel, his breast
Is hollow, empty of a living heart.
I bore him lifeless from the doctors hands
And brought him to the Prophets presence; dead
He was; I told him of the Fount of Life;
I spoke with him upon a mystery
O the Koran, a tale of the Beloved120
Of Nejd; I brought to him a perfume sweet
Pressed from the roses of Arabia.
The Candle of my music lit the throng;
I taught the people lifes enigma; still
He cried against me, These are Europes spells:
He weaves to bind us with, the psaltery
Of Europe that he strikes into our ears.
O thou, that to Busiri gavest a Cloak121
And to my fingers yielded Salmas lute,122
Grant now to him, whose thoughts are so astray
That he can no more recognize his own,
Perception of the truth, and joy therin.
Be lusterless the mirror of my heart,
Or be my words by aught but the Koran
Informed, O thou whose splendour is the dawn
Of every age and time, whose vision sees
All that is in mens breasts, rend now the veil
Of my thoughts shame; sweep clean the avenue
Of my offending thorns; choke in my breast
The narrow breath of life; thy people guard
Against the mischief of my wickedness;
Nurse not to verdure my untimely seed,
Grant me no portion of springs fecund showers,
Wither the vintage in my swelling grapes
And scatter poison in my sparkling wine;
Disgrace me on the Day of Reckoning,
Too abject to embrace thy holy feet.
But if I ever threaded on my chain
The pearl of the Korans sweet mysteries,
I to the Muslims I have spoken true,
O thou whose bounty raises the obscure
Unto significance, one prayer from thee
Is ample guerdon for my words, desert;
Plead thou to God my cause, and let my love
Be locked in the embrace of godly deeds.
Thou hast accorded me a contrite soul,
A part of holy learning; stablish me
