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English Translation of Shikwa & Jawab-E-Shikwa
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English Translation of Shikwa & Jawab-E-Shikwa - 25th May 2001, 11:18 AM

hi,

Shikwa and Jawaab-E-Shikwaa were 2 beautiful poems written by iqbal... I have their english translation. This translation was done by AJ Arberry.


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The Complaint (Shikwa)

Why must I suffer loss, oblivious to gain,
We think not upon the morrow, drowned in grief for yesterday?
Why must I attentive heed the nightingale's lament of plain?
Fellow bard, am I a rose, condemned to silence all the way?
No; the burning power of song bids me be bold and not to faint;
Dust be in my mouth, but God-He is the theme of my complaint.

True, we are forever, famous for our habit to submit;
Yet we tell our tale of grief, as by our grief we are constrained.
We are but a muted lyre; yet a lament inhabits it-
If a sigh escapes our lips, no more can sorrow be contained.
God, give ear to the complaint of us, Thy servants tried and true
Thou art used to songs of praise; now hear a note of protest too.

In thy everlasting Essence Thou wast from eternity;
Bright the bloom bedecked the garden; undiffused the scent abode;
Lord of universal favor, let impartial justice be-
Could the rose's perfume scatter with no breeze to waft abroad?
Peace of mind and quiet spirit won we of our labors glad,
Else the folk of Thy Beloved--should they be counted mad?

Strange indeed the spectacle Thy world supplied before our days.
Here men bowed them down to stones, there paid they reverence to trees;
Only to the visual image was attuned the human gaze-
How could hearts adore a God no eye percipient may seize?
Well thou knowest, was there any anywhere to name Thy Name?
By the Muslim's strong right arm Thy purpose to fulfillment came.

Though the Seljuks had their empire, the Turanians their sway,
Though the Chinese ruled in China the Sassanians in Iran.
Though the Greeks inhabited broad, fruitful acres in their day
And the Jews possessed their cubit and the Christians their span,
Who upraised the sword of battle in They Name's most sacred cause,
Or who strove to right the ruined world by thy most hallowed laws?

It was we and we alone who marched Thy soldiers to the fight,
Now upon the land engaging, now embattled on the sea,
The triumphant call to Prayer in Europe's churches to recite,
Through the wastes of Africa to summon men to worship Thee,
All the glittering splendor of great emperors we reckoned none;
In the shadow of our glinting swords we shouted "God is One!"

All our life we dedicated tot he dire distress of war;
When we died, we died exultant for the glory of Thy Name;
Not to win a private empire did we draw the swords we bore-
Was it in the quest of riches to earth's frontiers that we came?
Had our people striven for the sake of worldly goods and gold
Would they then have shattered idols they might have gainfully sold?

We were rocks immovable when in the field we took our stand,
And the bravest-hearted warriors b our thrust were swept away;
It sufficed us to enrage, if any gainsaid Thy command,
Then we hurled us on their cannons, took their swordpoints but for play.
Into every heart we struck the impress of thy Unity
And beneath the dagger's lightning preached the Message, Lord, of Thee.

Tell us this and tell us truly-who uprooted Khyber's gate?
Or who overthrew the city where great Caesar reigned in pride?
Who destroyed the gods that hands of others labored to create,
Who the marshaled armies of the unbelievers drove aside?
Who extinguished from the altars of Iran that sacred flame,
Who revived the dimmed remembrance of Yazdan's immortal Name?

Strove there ever other nation in the cause of Thee alone,
Bore there ever other people battle's anguish for thy sake?
Whose the sword that seized the world, and ruled it as its very own?
Whose the loud Allahu Akbar that compelled the earth to wake?
Whose the dread that kept the idols cowering and terrified
So that, heads cast down and humbled, "He is God, the One," they cried?

In the press of mortal combat if the hour of worship came
Then the people of Hejaz, to Makkah turning bowed in prayer;
King Mahmud, Ayaz the slave--their rank in service was the same,
Lord and servant-at devotion never difference was there.
Slave and master rich and needy-all the old distinctions gone,
Unified in adoration of Thy Presence, they were one.

In the Hall of Space and Being, at the dawn and eventide
Circulated we like goblets with the Wine of Faith replete;
Still we roved o'er plain and mountain spread Thy message far and wide-
Is it known to Thee, if ever we returned to own defeat?
Desert after desert spanning, faring on through sea on sea.
In the Ocean of the Shadows our strong coursers watered we

We erased the smudge of falsehood from the parchment firmament.
We redeemed the human species from the chains of slavery;
And we filled the Holy Kaaba with our foreheads humbly bent,
Clutching to our fervent bosoms the Qur'an in ecstasy,
Yet the charge is laid against us we have played the faithless part;
If disloyal we have proved, hast thou deserved to win our heart?

Other creeds claim other peoples, and they have their sinners too;
There are lowly men among them, and men drunken with conceit;
Some are sluggards, some neglectful, some are vigilant and true;
Multitudes disdain Thy Name in loathing utter and complete;
But the showers of Thy mercy other thirsting souls assuage,
Only on the hapless Muslims falls the lightning of thy rage.

Hark, the idols in the temples shout, "The Muslims are no more,"
Jubilant to see the guardians of the Kaaba's shrine depart;
The world's inn is emptied of those singing cameleers of yore,
Vanished is their caravan, Koran close-pressed to reverent heart.
Disbelief is loud with laughter; art Thou deaf, indifferent?
Disregardest Thou Thy unity as if it nothing meant?

Not of this are we complaining that their coffers overflow,
Who have not the wit or grace of converse in society;
But that infidels show own the houris and the palaces-ah woe!
While the wretched Muslims must with promises contented be.
Now no more for us thy favors and thy old benevolence-
How and wherefore is thy pristine kindliness departed hence?

Why no more are worldly riches among Muslims to be found,
Since Thy power is as of old beyond compute and unconfined?
If thou willest, foaming fountains from the desert's breast can bound
And the rippling mirage may the traveler in the forest blind
All we have is jeers from strangers public shame, and poverty-
Is disgrace our recompense for laying down our lives for Thee?

So it is on others only that the world its love bestows
We, who walk thy chosen path-to us a phantom world is left.
Be it so, bid us be gone, and let the earth belong to those;
Yet protest not that the earth of Unity is now bereft.
For no other cause we live but Thy remembrance to maintain;
When the saki is departed, can the winecup yet remain?

Gone is the thronged assembly, and Thy lovers too are gone.
Ended are the midnight sighings, silence dawn's deep threnody;
They bestowed their hearts upon thee and with their reward passed on;
Scarcely were Thy faithful seated when they were dismissed from Thee.
So Thy lovers came, so with the promise of "Tomorrow" went
Now come, seek them with the lantern of thy beauty's blandishment,

Laila's pangs are still the same, Qais yearns as fiercely as of old;
Still amid the forests and the vales of Najd the fleet dear run,
Beauty rules the same as ever, hearts deep passions still enfold,
Still abide the folk of Ahmad, still Thou art their Lord, the One;
Then what means Thy high displeasure, since its cause is all unknown?
What denotes it, that Thine eye is turned in wrath upon Thy own?

Did we ever shun Thee, or Arabia's Messenger forsake?
Did we tire of idol-breaking, and to idol making turn?
Did we cry an end to passion, growing weary of love's ache?
Did we quit the path of Salman, cease from Qarani to learn?
Still the fire of "God is Greatest" in our hearts we keep ablaze.
Still Bilal the Abyssinian guides us in our daily ways.

It may be that Love's sweet manners are perchance no more observed.
And the path of acquiescence leads no longer hearts resigned
Haply the heart's Qibla-pointing compass from its course has swerved,
And the ancient law of faithfulness has lost its power to bind;
Yet Thou too, alas, art changed, now us, now others favoring;
Monstrous as it is to say, Thy love is such a fickle thing!

On the summit of Faran Thou madest Faith complete and whole,
Tookest captive hearts a thousand with a single, simple, sign;
Thou it was that Love's quintessence set afire, a blazing coal,
Flamed the assembly with the ardor of Thy loveliness divine.
Why is it, that in our bosoms not a spark remains to-day?
We are still the same burnt chattels, what, hast thou forgotten, pray?

In the vale of Najd no longer may those clanging chains be heard,
Qais no more awaits distracted Laila's liter to behold,
Vanished are those passionate yearnings; we are dead, our hearts
interred;
Gone the light of the assembly, the abode is dark and cold.
Joyous day, when Though returned in Thy beauty and grace
And unbashfully revealest to our gathering Thy face!

Stranger, sit within the garden quaffing wine beside the stream;
Glass in hand they sit and listen to the cuckoo song of Spring.
Far from the commotioned meadow we sit silently and dream,
Dream Thy livers, of Thy coming, and the cry of "He the King!"
Reawaked in Thy moths the eager joy to be aflame.
Bid again the ancient lightning's brand our bosoms with Thy Name!

Turns anew the wandering people to Hejaz their bridle string,
Skyward lifts the wingless nightingale the lilting love of flight,
In the garden every blossom fragrance-drenched is quivering,
Strike the silent lute, long eager for Thy plectrum to alight-
String imprisoned melodies await thy touch to sing in choir!
Sinai is trembling, trembling to be ravished by Thy fire.

Grant at last Thy sore-tried people in their difficulties ease,
Make the ant of little substance peer of Solomon to be.
Love is grown too rare and costly-cheapen its exalted fees;
Turn our India's temple-squatters into Muslims true to Thee.
See the stream of blood is pouring from our grief, so long suppressed;
Hark, the cry of pain is throbbing in our dagger-riven breast.

Now the secret of the garden by the rose's scent is spread;
Shame it is, the garden's blossoms themselves the traitors play!
Now the garden's Lyre is broken, and the roses bloom-time sped,
And the minstrels of the garden from their twigs have winged away;
Yet one nightingale sings on there, rapt by his own melody,
In his breast the plangent music tosses still tempestuously

All the ring doves from the branches of thy cypresses have flown,
And the petals of the blossoms flutter down and take to flight;
And the garden's ancient walks, how desolate they are and lone;
Ravished of their leafy robes, the boughs stand naked to the light.
Still he sings forlorn, all heedless of the season's changing mood;
Oh, that someone in the garden his sad anthem understood!

Life is joyless now, and death no comfort promises to bring
To remember ancient sorrows is the sole delight I know.
In the mirror of my mind what gems of thought are shimmering,
In the darkenss of my breast what shinig revelations glow!
Yet no witness in the garden may the miracle attest;
Not a tulip there lies bleeding with a brand upon its breast.

Break, hard hearts, to hear the carol of this nightingale forelorn;
Wake, dull hearts, to heed the clamour and the clangour of this bell;
Rise, dead hearts, by this new compact of fidelity reborn;
Thirst dry hearts, for the old vintage whose sweet tang you know so
well.
Though the jar was cast in Persia, in Hejaz the wine first flowed;
And though Indian the song be, from Hejaz derives the mode.


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The Answer (Jawaab-e-Shikwa)

Speech that issues from the heart a magic influence exerts;
Wingless though the discourse be, yet has power to soar on high;
Holy is its origin, and so its gaze to heaven converts.
And though from dust it rises, it can overpass the sky.
Arrogant and cunning was my love, and on such mischief bent
That the very walls of heaven fell down before its wild lament.

Listening the ancient Sphere said, "someone seems to be about;"
Cried the Planets, "there is someone, in the upper ether pure;"
"Not so lofty," called the Moon. "Down to the earth there, not a doubt;"
"No," the Milky-Way retorted. "He is hiding here, for sure."
Guardian Rizwan, he if any, my complaint distinctly heard;
"He is man, just newly driven out of Eden, " he averred.

All the angels in amazement shouted, "Why, whose voice is it?"
Dwellers in the firmament were baffled by the mystery.
"shall a mortal man aspire in our high firmament to sit?
Can that little speck of dust take wings, and soar loftily?
They have clean forgot their manners, those inhabitants of earth
What effrontery, what rudeness for such things of lowly birth!

So enormous is their impudence, at God himself they rail,
Those fine progeny of Adam unto whom the Angels bowed
Well they know of Quality and Quantity - they cannot fail;
As for being humble- for that secret they are far too proud.
Mighty airs they give themselves because they have the trick of speech;
When it comes to delicacy that is far beyond their reach."

Came a voice: "ah pitiable is the story thou hast told;
Sure, thy cup is overflowing with the tears that never cease.
Hight as heaven has the loud thunder of the cry impassioned rolled;
In what impudence of language thy distraction find release!
Thanks at least for this, that thy complaint was beautifully phrased,
And the creature to his Maker has in conversation raised.

We would fain be bountiful, but no petitioner is there;
When no traveller approaches, how can We guide on the way?
Free to all Our loving kindness, none is worthy of Our care-
Even We could never fashion a new Adam of such clay.
Were there any to receive it, We would give a royal throne;
A new world We have to offer, were one earnest seeker known.

Hands are impotent and neverless, hearts unfaithed and infidel,
The community a heartbreak to their Prophet and a shame;
Gone on idol-breakers, in their place idol-makers dwell;
Abrahams their fathers were, the children merit Azar's name
New and strange the band of drinkers, and their wine is strange and new,
A new shrine to house their Kaaba, new and strange idols too.

Once the tulip of the desert was of elegance the queen
In the season of the roses reigned her loveliness supreme
Then in every Muslim eye the burning love of god was seen
The Beloved you name as fickle was the heart's adorning dream.
If you will, with one more constant a new bond of service sign;
The communion of the Prophet in a narrower space confine.

Very heavy on your spirits weighs the charge of morning prayer
Liefer far would you be sleeping, than rise up to worship Me.
Ramadan is too oppressive for your tempers free to bear;
Tell me now, do you consider that the law of loyalty?
Nations come to birth by Faith; let Faith expire, and nations die;
So when gravitation ceases, the thronged stars asunder fly.

Why you are a people utterly bereft of every art
Not a nation in the world so lightly spurns its native place
You are like a barn where lightnings nestle, and will not despart
You would sell your fathers' grave yards, nor account such traffick base
Making profit out of tombstones has secured you such renown-
Why not set up shop in idols, if you chance to hunt some down?

Who erased the smudge of falsehood from the parchment?
Who redeemed the human species from the chains of slavery?
Who once filled the holy Kaaba with their foreheads lowly bent
Clutching to their fervent bosoms the Koran in ecstasy?
Who were they? They were your fathers,; as for now, why, what are you,
Squatting snug, serenely waiting for tomorrow to come true?

Did you say that Muslims must with promises contented be?
That is a complaint unfounded, and by common sense abhorred
The Creator's law is justice, out of all eternity-
Infidels who like Muslims surely merit Faith's reward.
Three is scarcely one amongst you after apradise aspires
There is not a Moses living, though unquenched are Sinai's fires.

One and common are the profit and the loss the people bear.
One common are your Prophet, your religion and your creed
One the Holy Sanctuary, one Koran, and one God you share;
But to act as one, and Muslims - that would every bound exceed.
Here sectarianism triumphs, class and cast there rule the day
Is it thus you hope to prosper, to regain your ancient sway?

Who abandoned the example of the chosen Messanger?
Who took temporal advantage as touchstone of success?
Who are dazzled by strange customs, alien usages prefer?
For the manners of their fathers who faint disgust profess?
In your hearts there is no ardor, in your spirits feeling none
As regards the Prophet's Message, why, with that you've long since done.

Now, if any stand to worship in the mosques, it is the poor,
And if any bear pains of holy fasting, it is they
They alone Our name revere, and Our remembrance keep secure
That your misdeeds may be hidden still they labor and they pary.
Drunken with the pride of riches, wealthy men neglect God's due
The communion of Islam lives on, because the poor are true.

Now no more the preacher's message from ripened judgement springs
Quenched the lightning of his spirit, out the lantern of his word
Lifeless hangs the Call to Prayer, with no Bilal to lend it wings
While philosophy spins on, Ghazali's lectures go unheard.
"Silenced is the voice of worship," she deserted mosques lament
"Where are now brave Hejazis, men of godly, true intent?"

Loud the cry goes up, "The Muslims?" they are vanished, lost to view!
We re-echo, "are true Muslims to be found in any place?"
Christian is your mode of living, and your culture is Hindu
Why, such Muslims to the Jews would be a shame and a disgrace.
Sure enough, you have Syeds, Mirzas, Afghans, all the rest
But can you claim you are Muslims, if the truth be confessed?

Even truthful, ever fearless was the Muslim in his speech
Strong and sure his sense of justice, clean of partiality
High exalted was his courage, far above the common reach,
And sweet modesty the dew was that refreshed his nature's tree
Of his wine the liquid essence by self-naughting was distilled
And his joy was in self-emptying the flask his Maker filled.

Every Muslim was a lancet poised to sever falsehood's vein
In the mirror of his being ceaseless action's lustre shone
In his own right arm he trusted, by his strength he could attain
And while you are scared of dying, he had fear of God alone.
If the child learns not the knowledge that has made his father sage
Then what right has he by merit to his father's heritage?

You are all intoxicated with the joy of fleshly ease
Are you Muslims? What is this the way Islam would have you tread?
Ali's poverty you will not, Uthman's wealth you dare not seize -
What relationship of spirit links you to your glorious dead?
You, who have abandoned the Koran, are spurned and cast away.

You are wroth with one another, they were kindly, merciful
You, who sin, see sins in others, they concealed their brother's sin
Be the Pleiades your dwelling, if they are attainable
Yet your souls must be in order, and with them you should begin.
They possessed the realm of china, they ascended Persia's throne
You have not their manly honor, and are great in word's alone.

Self-destruction is your fashion, noble self-esteem was theirs
You would fle from brotherhood, a brotherhood for which they died
Yours the tongue that idly blabs theirs was the hand that greatly dares
You are fain to pluck a bud, they mastered all the garden wide.
Nations to this day rehearse the legend of their loyalty,
And their truth still stands inscribed upon the scroll of history.

On your people's far horizon like a star you shone so bright
Till by India's garish idols lured, to Brahmans you were turned
You forsook the nest that nursed you, lifted by the love of flight
But your youth were void of action and to doubt the Faith they learned
Education and refinement from all fetters set them free
Brought them forth from their own Kaaba to embrace idolatory.

Qais, if so he please, may endure the desert's solitude
Or become a city-dweller, roam no more the empty waste
Qais may choose the one or other in the madness of his mood-
This is sure and certain, laila must unveil her beauty chaste
End the protests of injustice, cease the cries of tyranny-
Why shall loveliness in bondage languish, seeing love is free?

This new age is like a lightning, setting every stock ablaze
Not a desert, not a garden is in safety from its blast
The new fire elects for fuel peoples of the ancient days
The communion of the prophet joins the general holocaust
Ah, but if the faith of Abraham again would brightly show
Where the flames are at their fiercest, there a garden fair would grow!

Let the gardener not be downcast to descry the garden's plight
Soon the starlight of the blossoms shall the naked bough adorn
And the choking weeds and brambles will have vanished out of sight
And where martyrs shed their life blood crimson roses will be born.
Look upon the deep vermillion flooding all the eastern sky-
It is your horizon, glowing to behold your sun arise.

There are nations in Life's garden that have gathered in their fruit
Others shared not in the harvest and are swept by autumn's gales
Multitudes of trees there stand, some green, some withered to the root
Myriads as yet lie hidden in the womb that never fails
After centuries of tending soars Islam, a mighty tree
Fruitful yet, a splendid symbol of immense vitality.

From the dust of a fixed homeland is thy skirt forever free
Thou a Joseph art whose Canaan is in every Egypt found
Still thy caravan is gathered, onward still the march must be
All thy baggage for the journey is the bell's compelling sound
Yea, a candle-tree thou art, and in the flame thy deep roots thrust
By the shadow of thy thought Tomorrow's cares are burned to dust.

Though Iran should wane and perish thou shalt never pass away
For the wine's intoxication in the beakers does not lie
From the story of the Tartar horde it stands out clear as day
That the idol-house itself the Kaaba's guardians may supply.
On time's ocean thou sustaines the frail vessel of The True
This new age is wrapped in shadows but thy star shines faintly through.

Now the onslaught of the Bulgars sounds the trumpet of alarm.
Screaming to the heedless sleepers news of an awakening
Thou supposest it the tiding of fresh grief and mortal harm
Yet it can thy self-denial and thy pride to testing bring.
Wherefore fearest thou the neighing of the warsteeds of the foe?
Never shall Truth's light be doused, for all God's enemies may blow.

The reality thou art is hidden from the people's eyes:
The bright cavalcade of being has most urgent need of thee
If requires thy burning breath, time's sinews to revitalise
And thy kingdom is the star that rules the Future's destiny.
Where is now the time for leisure? Mighty labours yet awit
Ere the light of the One Godhead all the world irradiate.

Thou art like the scent imprisoned in a bud; thyself release!
Load thy pack upon thy shoulder, fan the meadow with thy breeze.
To a mighty desert let thy insubstantial mote increase.
From a murmuring wave become the roaring tempest of the seas.
With the power of love triumphant life the lowly from their shame
Light the world, too long in darkness, with Muhammad's radiant name.

Were it not for this fair blossom, songless were the nightingale
The Sweetrosebud in Time's garden would no more smile tenderly
Without him to play the Saki, wine and vessel both would fail
Faith in God the One would perish and yourself would cease to be.
Bt this name the great pavilion of the skies is held in place
To this name the pulse of Being quivers yet through boundless Space.

In the sea's caressing billows, in the savage storm no less
In the prairie, in the mountain, in the valley, in the field
In the cities of far China, in Morocco's wilderness
In the faith of every Muslim in this mystery concealed
Let the eyes of all the peoples till the very end of time
Testify to the great wonder, "We have made thy name sublime".

The black region of the globe, that pupil of the eye of earth
The same homeland where your martyrs were forever born and bred
Fertile Crescent, warmed and cherished by the sun to joy and mirth
That its lovers call Bilal's land, for it knew his holy tread
Is like mercury-a-tremble at the echo of his name
That illuminates the darkness as it were a plunging flame.

Thou hast Reason for thy buckler and thy sword is Love Divine
So accoutred, my brave dervish, seize the world beneath thy sway.
"God is Greatest" - all but God consume with this bright flame of thine
Thou a Muslim art, and Destiny thy edict must obey.
Be thou faithful to Muhammad, and We yield Ourself to thee
Not this world alone- the Tablet and the Pen thy prize shall be.
   
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