Muhammed Iqbal

Muhammed Iqbal

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Muhammed Iqbal. (9 November 1877 – 21 April 1938) was a Muslim poet, philosopher and politician from Punjab, British India, whose poetry in Urdu and Persian is considered to be among the greatest of the modern era.
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Madness of Love is no more

mohabbat ka junuu
N baaqii nahii
n hai musalamaano
n me
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The age of infancy

The earth and sky were unknown worlds to
Only the expanse of mother's bosom was a world to
Every movement was a symbol of life's pleasure to
My own speech was like a meaningless word to
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The painful wail

Consumed with grief I am,
I get relief in no wayO circumambient waters of the Ganges drown
Our land foments excessive mutual
What unity
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The childs invocation [bachaey ki duaa]

Urdulab pe aatii hai duaa banake tamannaa merii zindagii shammaa kii surat ho Khudaayaa merii duur duniyaa kaa mere dam a
Ndheraa no jaaye har jagah mere chamakane se ujaalaa ho jaaye ho mere dam se yuu
N hii mere watan ki...
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I Desire With English Translation

tere ishq kii intahaa chaahataa huu
N merii saadagii dekh kyaa chaahataa huu
N sitam ho ki ho vaadaa-e-behijaabii ko_ii baat sabr-aazamaa chaahataa huu
N ye jannat mubaarak rahe zaahido
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The Himalayas

O Himalah
O rampart of the realm of India
Bowing down, the sky kisses your
Your condition does not show any signs of old age You are young in the midst of day and night's alternation
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Said The Coal To A Diamond

My stuff is so vile,
I am less than dustwhile your gleam rends the mirror's heart
My darkness lights the chafing-dishbefore I am incinerated
A miner's boottramples my head, covering me with ashes
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The intellect and the heart

One day Intellect said to the heart"A guide to the misguided ones I
Being on the earth I reach up to the
Look, how deep in comprehension I
Guidance on earth is my sole
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The crescent

The sun's boat is broken and drowned in the
But a piece is floating about on the water of the
The twilight's pure blood drips into the sky's
Has the lancet of Nature drawn the sun's blood
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The candle

O Candle
I am also an afflicted person in the world
Constant complaint is my lot in the manner of the
Love gave the warmth of internal pathos to you It made me the florist selling blood-mixed tears Whether you be the candle of a cel...
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Shikwaa [The Complaint]

Why should I be destructive and remain reckless of betterment
Think not of the future, remain occupied in today’s problems
Should I hear nightingale’s  wails, and remain completely silent
O companion
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The birds complaint

I am constantly reminded of the bygone
Those garden's springs, those chorus of
Gone are the freedoms of our own
Where we could come and go at our own
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The sun

O Sun
The world's essence and motivator you
The organizer of the book of the world you
The splendor of existence has been created by
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