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Glory of Iqbal

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On life's battleground develop the character of steel,

In   love's   bedchamber    become   soft   like    silk .

In    the    company    of    the    Sage    of    Rum    I     learnt   ,

One fearless heart is worth a thousand wiseheads muffled in a sack

Attar or Rumi,Razi or Ghazali-whoever may be,

Nothing  is attained  without  the pre-dawn wail .

The  Pathfinder, Last  Messenger of God, master of all ,

Who on the road-dust bestowed the splendour of Sinnai .

Civilisation   of  the   west   is   perversion  of   heart  and  mind,

Since  its  soul  could not   remain   unpolluted.

When the soul loses its purity everything goes,

Cleanliness of conscience, loftiness of mind, refinement of taste .

This unbounded luxury,this government,this trade,

But the heart in the unillumined breast unblest with peace.

Dark is the Frankish country with the smoke of its machines,

This "Valley of Blessedness and Hope" not worthy of divine Splendour .

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