عرب کہ باز دہد محفل شبانہ کجاستعجم کہ زندہ کند رودعاشقانہ کجاست
Where is the Arab, to revive. The old night-revelry,And where the Persian, to bring alive. The love-lute’s minstrelsy?
بزیر خرقۂ پیران سبوہا چہ خالی استفغان کہ کس نشناسد می جوانہ کجاست
Under the Sufi elder’s gown. The flagon is bare and dry;Alas, for none can tell in the town. Where young red wine’s to buy.
درین چمنکدہ ہر کس نشیمنی سازدکسی کہ سازد و وا سوزد آشیانہ کجاست
Every man in this grassy mead. Fashions and takes his rest,But where is he, ah, where indeed, Who will make, and burn, his nest?
ہزار قافلہ بیگانہ وار دید و گذشتولے کہ دید بہ انداز محرمانہ کجاست
A thousand caravan-trains have stared. Like a stranger, and then passed on,But he that close as a lover dared. To gaze–is there anyone?
چو موج خیز و بہ یم جاودانہ می آویزکرانہ می طلبی؟ بی خبر کرانہ کجاست
Rise like a wave, and surging flow. In the ocean eternally?Thou seek’st the shore, and dost not know. Where ever the shore may be.
بیا کہ در رگ تاک تو خون تازہ دویددگر مگوی کہ آن بادۂ مغانہ کجاست
Hither (for in thy tendril’s vein. The fresh young blood doth bound)Hither hasten, nor ask again. Where the Magian wine is found.
بیک نورد فرو پیچ روزگاران راز دیر و زود گذشتی دگر زمانہ کجاست
Twist into one vast war-array. All ages that ever were;Later and sooner are passed away; Where now is Time, ah, where?
From Zabur-e-Ajam (1927) by Allama Muhammad Iqbal · verified text, Iqbal Academy Pakistan
