Portrait Of Grief (Iqbal's Tasweer-e-Dard)

                           

                                                Portrait Of Grief 

                                           (Iqbal’s Tasveer-e-Dard)

                                                   Penned in 1904
                                                    Stanza I

                         My story is so grief provoking that nobody can endure to hear,

                         Silence is conversation, speechlessness is speech of mine,

                         How is this curb on speech in Thy world!

                         Here holding discourse is longed for by tongue of mine,

                         Scars in tulips, tears of narcissus, slits in roses,

                         Everywhere in garden is scattered the story of mine,

                         The ringdoves, the parrots and the nightingales,

                         The fowls of garden all-together looted style of wail of mine,

                         O the lamp! Drip as drops of tear from the eyes of the moth,

                         I am all grief head to foot, wistful is the story of mine,

                         My God! Then what is the fun in living here in the world?

                         Neither everlasting life is mine nor accidental death is mine,

                         It is not my complaint alone! It is the complaint of the world,

                         I am that rose, autumn of every flower is as if autumn of mine,

                         My condition resembles a bell apparently silent but noise within,

                         Love induced uneasiness led to selflessness of mine.

                            

                                                  * * * * *
                                                   Stanza II

                 In the gardens of the world, I am unacquainted with happy social life,

                 Gaiety weeps for me, I am that unfortunate deprived of happiness,

                 Power of speech weeps for my spoiled destiny,

                 I mutter being ashamed of not getting listening ears,

                 I, a handful of dust, am disturbed but nothing opens out,

                 Whether I am Alexander or a mirror or dust of ill-will,

                 Granted everything, but my existence is the design of God,

                 Whose reality is light head to foot, I am that darkness,

                 I am treasure covered in the handful of dust of desert,

                 Nobody knows where I am, I am vicegerent of God,

                 My observation is not based on life time perambulation,

                 I am that small world that I am master of my own fate,

                 I am not wine, I am not cup-bearer, neither intoxication nor cup,

                 I am the ultimate reason of everything in the world of existence,

                 The mirror of my heart apprises me of secrets of the two worlds,

                 I disclose the same whatever comes before my eyes. 

                                                 * * * * * *
                                                  Stanza III

                                              

                    I was gifted with unique quality of narration amongst the poets,

                    That the angels at the empyrean are unanimous with me,

                   This too is the effect of my extreme devotion,

                   The mirror of my heart shares the secrets of divine decree,

                  Thy sight makes me weep O India!

                  That thy story is exemplary among all stories,

                  I was allotted such a grief as if everything was given,

                  The pen of eternity has written me amongst thy mourners,

                  The flower-gatherer didn’t spare even the traces of petals,*

                  Good luck to thee! The gardeners at daggers drawn,*

                  The heavens have kept thunderbolts hidden in sleeves,

                  The nightingales should not remain unmindful in their nests,

                  Listen O unmindful! My appeal is worth considering,*

                  It is the daily recital of the fowls in the garden,

                  Be concerned about the motherland O unmindful! Catastrophe is on the way,

                  Thy destruction is under consideration in the heavens,

                 See this a bit! What is happening, what is about to happen,

                 Well! There is nothing in the concocted stories of olden times,

                  How long this silence! Cry intently for assistance,

                  Such that thou be on earth, and thy cry be in the heavens,

                  If you don’t comprehend, you will be wiped out O people of India!

                  Even your story will not get place among the stories,

                  This is the rule of God, this is the style of nature,

                  Whoever is moving on the path of action is favourite of nature.

                   *Flower-gather refers to the exploiting force, British govt.

                  * gardeners mean Hindus and Muslims.

                  *Unmindful means Indians of the British India.


                                     *  *  *  *  *  *  *

                                       Stanza- IV

                                    

           I shall leave my hidden wounds manifested today,

           Weeping blood tears, I shall make every gathering a rose-garden,

           I have to lighten every heart with intent heart-burning,

           I shall leave thy dark nights illuminated,

           I am like a bud with a heart acquainted with purpose,

           I shall scatter my handful of dust all over the garden-land,

           Placing the scattered beads in the string of rosary,*

           Though difficult! But I shall make this difficulty easy,

           O my companion! Leave me to do uniting the people,

           That I shall manifest our hidden problem is same,

           I shall disclose to the world whatever my eyes have seen,

           I shall leave you amazed like the mirror,

           Whatever be hidden in the unknown visualising eye can see,

           Whatever be the demand of the times, it can see.

            * ‘scattered beads’ means the Hindus and the Muslims.

                                              *  *  *  *  *  *    

                                                Stanza- V

                                       
                    Thou didn’t acquaint thyself with the taste of exaltation,

                     Thou lived thy life in lowliness like the foot-print,

                     Thy heart remained attached with society but kept thyself,

                      Unacquainted with the amazing activities of outside world,

                     Thou had been engaging thyself in inferior acts,

                     Thou never saw thy own person in thy own mirror of heart,

                     Give up prejudice O unmindful! In view of world opinion,

                     These are thy impressions which speak of thy evil deeds,

                     Raise thy voice against those exploiting forces,

                     Thou art choking thy own voice with thy own hands,

                     Clean heart has nothing to do with decorating colours,

                     O unmindful! Thou hast applied henna on the mirror,

                      Not only earth, the heavens too weeps on thy wrong doings,

                      God’s wrath! Thou hast deviated from the teachings of the Qur’an,

                      If verbally thou proclaims tawheed, it is of no good,

                      Thou hast made thy ego thy own god,

                      Thou even saw Joseph in the well, but didn’t learn any lesson,

                      O unmindful! God’s bounty was for all, thou made it sectarial,

                      Thou hast lust of ornate style of oration from the dais,

                      Thy sermon too is a form of story telling.

                                             *  *  *  *  *  *  *
                                                 Stanza- VI                                        

                  Show that world-illuminating glory to thy tearful eyes,

                  Which makes the moth provoked and makes the due weep,

                  O the lustful! Thy viewing is not the purpose of this,

                  Someone has made the eyes of Adam with some sense,

                  Though he viewed whole world, but with no usefulness,

                  Jamsheed couldn’t discover his own reality from his goblet,

                  Sectarianism is a tree whose fruit is prejudice,

                  This is that fruit which caused Adam’s exit from heavens,

                  Not a single petal of rose ever rose by absorption of sunrays,

                  It is desire to rise which lifts the dew,

                  The afflicted of divine love don’t loiter in search of remedy,

                  These wounded souls themselves create their remedy,

                   With the spark of divine love the heart remains illuminated,

                   From a tiny seed comes into being the garden of Sinai.

                                        *  *  *  *  *  *  *
                                             Stanza -VII

             Remedy for every suffering is keeping the aspiration high,

             Treatment of wound is not to take obligation of any reward,

             Ecstasy of selflessness made me reach the skies,

             On breaking away from colour I learned to lead the life of fragrance,

             How can the tears stop in the lamentation of motherland,

             Prayers of the eyes of the poet is to remain in estate of ablution,

             Thinking why should  we make our nest on the flower-bough!

             Alas! Why to live in the garden if it be a life of dishonour,

             If thou could understand that freedom is hidden in love,

             It is slavery to be captive of distinction of we and thou,

             It is contentment that keeps the goblet inverted in water,

             Thou too should be a streamlet like a bubble,

             Don’t be inconsiderate of own people, this has welfare for thee,

             O the hard-hearted! If thou intend to live in the world,

             The love of mankind is a soul-nourishing wine,

             It taught me to become a mad-saint without cup and wine,

              It is the love which has given cure to the sick nations,

              Thus, the sick nations have changed their misfortune into fortune.

                             
                                         *  *  *  *  *  *  *

                                            Stanza-VIII

           Desert of love is exile in wilderness too as well as motherland too,

           This wasteland is gaol too, nest too as well as garden too,

           Love only is that goal that it is stage too as well as desert too,

           Bell too, caravan too, guide too as well as bandit too,

           All call it a sickness, but this is such a sickness,

           Hidden in which is remedy of the calamities of the times,

           Burning of heart in love is as if to become illuminated,

           This moth on burning becomes the lamp of the society,

           He Himself is the handsomeness manifesting in everything,

           It is Shirin too, Be-stoon too as well as Farhad too,

           Religious differences have ruined the nations,

           The heart of my people has some anxiety for motherland too,

           The lengthy story of grief is calling for a halt, otherwise,

           Our mouth contains tongue too and we have eloquence too,

           The story is not getting short, so I am quitting myself,

           Story is unending , so I decided to silence myself. 

                  

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