Dr. Allama Muhammad Iqbal is the national poet of Pakistan. He was born on 9th November, 1877. This blog is about the life and poetry of Allama Iqbal. This Blog has the poerty of Iqbal in Urdu, Roman Urdu and English translation.

Saturday 24 November 2012

Nawab Mirza Khan Dagh

The grandeur of Ghalib has remained buried since long
Mahdi Majruh is the cemetery's resident since long

Death broke the decanter of Amir  in a strange country
The assembly's eye still has the ecstasy of the wine of Amir

However, today O Companion! The whole garden is mourning!
Lighted candle is extinguished, literary assembly is mourning!

The Delhi's nightingale made its nest in such a garden
Where all the world's nightingales are singing in a chorus

Ah Dagh has gone! His bier is on our shoulders
The last poet of Jahanabad  is finally silent

Gone is that smartness! Gone is that humor of style!
The fire of youth was veiled in the old age's camphor

Every heart has the longing which the language of Dagh had
This Lailah was unveiled there, she is behind the veil here

Who will ask zephyr now the secret of silence of the rose?
Who in the garden will understand the secret of nightingale's wailing?

In his elegant imagination he was not unaware of reality
The bird's eye remained focused on the nest even in flight

Others will show us the subtleties of linguistic thought
The elevated elegance of the sagacity of their thought

They will make us cry painting the picture of time's vicissitudes
Or will show us the new world of their imagination

Nightingales of Shiraz also will be born in this garden
There will be hundreds of magicians and masters of miracles

Thousands of ├┐zars will rise from the temple of poetry
The new cup-bearers will serve wine from the new goblets

Many commentaries of the book of Love will be written
There will be many interpretations of the youths' dreams

However, who will draw the exact picture of Love?
The master having departed who will enchant the heart

I am sowing the seeds of tears in the soil of verse
You also cry, O Delhi's soil! I am crying for Dagh!

Ah! O The Ka'bah of the literateur's  religion
Your garden has been ruined by autumn today

That colorful rose of yours has departed like fragrance
That is, the abode of Urdu has become deprived of Dagh

Perhaps not much attraction was in the homeland's soil
That full moon has set in the soil of the Dakkan

The cup-bearers have left, the tavern has become deserted,
Only the memorable personality of Delhi's assembly has been left

The tyranny of death makes longing shed tears of blood
The archer of death shoots out arrows in the dark

However, the tongue cannot open in complaint
Autumn's style is also a prelude to garden's existence

The one universal law creates all such results
Exit of fragrance from the garden, that of the gardener from the world

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