JAVID NAMA [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

This is a Digital Library

With over 100,000 free electronic resource in Persian, Arabic and English

JAVID NAMA [Electronic resources] - نسخه متنی

Muhammad Iqbal

| نمايش فراداده ، افزودن یک نقد و بررسی
افزودن به کتابخانه شخصی
ارسال به دوستان
جستجو در متن کتاب
تنظیمات قلم


اندازه قلم

+ - پیش فرض

حالت نمایش

روز نیمروز شب
جستجو در لغت نامه
لیست موضوعات
افزودن یادداشت جدید


A restless lightning
flashed in the water,
waves surged and rolled
in the water;
a sweet scent wafted
from the rose-garden of Paradise,
the spirit of that
dervish of Egypt appeared.
His fire melted the
pearl in the oyster-shell,
melted the stone in the
breast of Kitchener.
He cried,
‘Kitchener, if you have eyes to see,
behold the avenging of
a dervish’s dust!
Heaven granted no grave
for your dust,
gave no resting-place
but the salty ocean.’
Then the words broke in
his throat;
from his lips a
heart-rending sigh was loosed.
‘Spirit of the
Arabs’, he cried, ‘arise;
like your forebears, be
the creator of new ages!
Fouad, Feisal, Ibn
how long will you twist
like smoke on yourselves?
Revive in the breast
that fire which has departed,
bring back to the world
the day that has gone.
Soil of Batha, give
birth to another Khalid,
chant once more the
song of God’s Unity.
In your plains taller
grow the palm-trees;
shall not a new Farouk
arise from you?
World of musky-hued
from you the scent of
eternal life is coming to me.
How long will you live
without the joy of journeying,
how long with your
destiny in alien hands?
How long will you
desert your true station?
My bones lament in the
deep like a reed-pipe;
are you afraid to
suffer? The Chosen One declared,
"For man the day
of suffering is the day of purification."
‘Cameleer, our
friends are in Yathrib, we in Nejd;
sing that song which
will stir the camel to ecstasy.
The cloud has rained,
grasses have sprouted from the earth,
it may be that the
camel’s pace grows languid.
My soul wails of the
pain of separation;
take the road where
fewer grasses grow.
My camel is drunk with
the grass, I for the Beloved;
the camel is in your
hands, I in the hands of the Beloved.
They have made a way
for waters into the desert,
upon the mountains the
palm fronds are washed.
Yonder two gazelles one
after the other—
see how they are
descending from the hill,
for a moment drink from
the desert spring
and then glance upon
the traveller.
The dew has softened
the sands of the plain like silk,
the highway is not hard
for the camel:
the clouds ring on ring
like the wings of the partridge—
I fear the rain, for we
are far from the goal.
Cameleer, our friends
are in Yathrib, we in Nejd;
sing that song which
will stir the camel to ecstasy.’

/ 66