Translations
This page shows only poems with translations by A. J. Arberry.
Zabur-e ʿAjam by Allama Iqbal, in translations by A. J. Arberry
Tremulous as the moon-light to our far abode we came; and no man knoweth how we trod this road.
Lord, who didst bring the stars to birth, look down upon my scattered earth; the atom doth itself enfold; this boundless wilderness behold.
Rise up, for Adam’s hour of manifestation has come; the stars bow down before this handful of dust.
Moon and star, travelling together on the road of desire, are measuring graces and understanding gestures and are possessed of insight.
Thou canst pass, like morning’s breeze, deep into the anemones, with a single breath disclose the locked secrets of the rose.
If you seek a shore in the sea of love, you ask a thousand flames to become one tongue.
Time is the winged messenger of the Heart’s Desire; wondrous herald! Tidings fair is his life entire.
Of the Friend’s ingenuous wit I can relate no more: By my pillow He did sit, and spoke upon the cure!
I am the slave of each living heart whose love is pure, refined; not cloistered monks who dwell apart, their hearts to none resigned.
The tulip of this meadowland is yet all flecked with hue; cast not the shield out of thy hand, for battle flares anew.
Faith depends on arguments and on magic eloquence; yet anon men serve the Lord with the lance and fearless sword.
Drunk with self hood like a wave plunge into the stormy lave; who commanded thee to sit with thy skirts about thy feet?
Out of Hijaz and the lonely plain the Guide of the Time is come, back from the far, far vale again the Caravan hastens home.
Of the Sultan I would take one gaze, if so I may; Muslim I; I do not make a god of clay.
Like the dervish drunken be quaff the winecup instantly, and, when thou art bolder grown, hurl thyself on Jamshid’s throne.
Greed is acting still his play this world to dominate; what new turbulence, I pray, behind Heaven’s veil doth wait?
Although the Angel dwells beyond the talisman of the skies, yet on this hand of dust in fond affection rest his eyes.
Where is the Arab, to revive the old night-revelry, and where the Persian, to bring alive the love-lute’s minstrelsy?
Rise like the morning air and learn to blow again; tulip and rose are fair; play gently with their train, deep in the rosebud’s heart learn how to stab thy dart.
Our world is dusty clay trampled upon the way; I do not think our breath returneth out of death.
Sleeper, rise thou up, and fast! Once again upon the past and the future fix thy gaze; Thou must think on other ways.
My mind awhile was gone about the heavens to pace, high on the back of the moon, fast in the stars’ embrace.
A melody swept me through and through and nobody knew; the air and the note is all they know: The high and low.
No Jamshid’s memory, the wine that fioweth in this inn of mine, it is the pressing of my soul that sparkleth in my Persian bowl.
I am a blossom of the plain; carry me back from the avenue to mountain and wilderness again where air’s to breathe, and the vast to view.
I uttered a new word, but there was none that heard; vision to rapture grew, but glance was none to view.
Never lover true is he who lamenteth dolefully; lover he, who in his bold hath the double world controlled.
In the heart of the birds, that range this garden, is ever change; ‘Tis one with the rose at breast, an other within the nest.
We are gone astray from God; he is searching upon the road, for like us, He is need entire and the prisoner of desire.
Of the hirelings’s blood outpoured, lustrous rubies makes the lord; tyrant squire to swell his wealth desolates the peasant’s tillth.
Although the soul, I know, one day unveiled shall be, think not it shall be so by writhing endlessly.
Whether the world be foul or fair, with a smile fare on; forth from the nest, the cage, the snare, the bower, be gone!
What is this life? A pearl in thy own shell to bear, in the flame’s heart to hurl thyself, nor melt to air.
Beyond heaven’s shuttered dome I have found a way to come where swifter than thought may fly the breath of a morning sigh.
A sinner proud am I; no need I take, except I work for it; I rage, because men say He writ predestinate my wilful deed.
The world had lost its sight and the glass of the heart forsook, but an eye now sees the light that into the heart can look.
No friend in the world entire thou wilt find sincere in solicitude go, lose thyself in thy self, and mind the honour of loverhood.
The fine science thou dost learn after vision does not yearn; ‘tis no wanderer far astray, but a straggler on the way.
Vision can be won as of morning sun, making this dark clay radiant as day.
Too oft was thy light with strangers to take wine, to suffer others’ light within the bowl to shine.
Love went searching thro’ the earth until Adam came to birth; out of water, out of clay manifested his display.
Come! The Asiatic man has created a new plan: Go not, pilgrimage to make to the idol that he brake.
I boast a love that is not grieved by being of To Be bereaved, whose infidelity doth ne’er the girdle of existence wear.
The Saqi, pouring his pure wine upon my restless heart converts this quicksilver of mine to gold, by magic art.
Brighter shall shine men’s clay than angels’ light, one day; earth through our Destiny turn to a starry sky.
I have never discovered well law’s way, and the wont thereof, but know him an infidel who denieth the power of Love.
