ḲhudīkīShoḳhī-o-TundīmeñKibr-o-NāzNahīñ
Jo Nāz Ho Bhīto Be-Lazzat-e-NiyāzNahīñ
In the coquetry and fierceness of the self there is no pride, there are no airs.
Even if there are airs, they are not without the pleasure of submission.
Nigāh-e-IshqDil-e-ZindakīTalāshmeñHai
Shikār-e-MurdaSazā-vār-e-ShahbāzNahīñ
The eye of love is in search of the living heart;
hunting for carrion does not befit up to the royal hawk.
MirīNavāmeñNahīñhaiAdā-e-Mahbūbī
Ki Bāñg-e-Sūr-e-SarāfīlDil-NavāzNahīñ
In my song there is no charming and romantic grace,
for the blast of the trumpet of Israfil is not meant to please the heart.
Savāl-e-Mai na KarūñSāqi-e-Farañgse Maiñ
Ki Ye Tarīqa-e-Rindān-e-Pāk-bāzNahīñ
I will not ask for wine from the Frank, Saqi,
for this is not the way of the pure‐hearted profligates.
Huīna Aam JahāñmeñKabhīHukūmat-e-Ishq
Sabab Ye Hai ki MuhabbatZamāna-sāzNahīñ
The rule of love has never been widespread in the world.
The reason is this – that love is no time‐server.
IkIztirābMusalsalĠhayāb Ho ki Huzūr
MaiñḲhudKahūñto MirīDāstāñDarāzNahīñ
One continual anxiety – whether absent or present!
If I tell it myself, my story is not long.
Agar Ho Zauqto ḲhalvatmeñPaḍh Zubūr-e-Ajam1
Fuġhān-e-Nīm-shabīBe-Navā-e-RāzNahīñ
If you desire then read the ‘Persian Psalms’ in seclusion;
The midnight lament is not bereft of secrets.
- Allama Iqbal’s another poetry book ‘Zaboor-e-Ajam’
Bal-e-Jibril-036
Mīr-e-SipāhNā-SazāLashkariyāñShikastaSaf
Aah Vo Tīr-E-Nīm-Kash JisKā Na Ho KoīHadaf
A recreant captain, a battle‐line thrown back,
The arrow hanging target‐less and slack!
TereMuhītmeñKahīñGauhar-e-ZindagīNahīñ
DhūñDChukāMaiñMaujMaujDekhChukā Sadaf Sadaf
Nowhere near you that shell which holds life’s pearl;
I have dragged the waves and searched the ocean’s track.
Ishq-e-Butāñ Se HaathUThāApnīḲhudīmeñDuubJā
Naqsh-o-Nigār-e-DairmeñḲhūn-e-Jigar Na Kar Talaf
Plunge in your self, on idols dote no more,
Pour our no more heart’s blood for paint to deck
KholKeKyāBayāñKarūñSirr-e-Maqām-e-Marg-o-Ishq
Ishq Hai Marg-e-Bā-Sharaf Marg Hayāt-e-Be-Sharaf
Their shrines. I unveil the courts of Love and Death:
Death – life dishonoured; Love – death for honour sake.
Sohbat-e-Pīr-e-Rūmse Mujh Pe Huā Ye Raaz Faash
LaakhHakīm Sar-ba-Jeb Ek Kalīm Sar-ba-Kaf
I gleaned in Rumi’s company: one bold heart
Is worth of learned heads the whole tame pack;
Misl-e-Kalīm Ho Agar MārkaAazmāKoī
Ab BhīDaraḳht-e-Tūrse Aatī Hai Bāñg-e-Lā-Taḳhaf
Once more that voice from Sinai’s tree would cry
Fear not! if some new Moses led the attack.
Ḳhīra Na Kar SakāMujheJalva-e-Dānish-e-Farañg
Surma Hai MerīAañkhkāḲhāk-e-Madīna-o-Najaf
No glitter of Western science could dazzle my eyes
The dust of Medina stains, like collyrium, black.
(Source: https://iqbalurdu.blogspot.com)