My English translation of Iqbal's Shikwa

Why should I bear the losses? Why should I leave the interest? Why should I not bother about the future? Why should I be sorrowful? Why should I listen to the sad songs of the bird and be attentive? Am I speechless like a flower to be silent? I possess an audacious power of speech Let there be dust on my face as condemnation for complaining to the God. We are known for our obedience But, we are compelled to tell our painful story In this silence we cry out our pleas Our compulsion has forced us to sing this sad song Oh God, please listen to the complaints of the faithful We always praise you, but, here is our wail of despair. You have been present from the very beginning The flower was there in the garden, but the air never bothered to spread its fragrance You are the one who is just and dispassionate in your decisions Tell us, had there been no air- how the fragrance of the flower would have spread? We took the pain for our own contentment Or else, was your beloved prophet’s Ummah foolish to strive so hard for you ? Before we came into being, your world was very weird Stones were being worshiped at some places and trees were regarded as gods in other parts Human tendency then, was to worship the things which can be seen Why would people accept a God that was not conspicuous? Do you know someone who was there to take your name? It was the strength of the Muslims which did your work The Seljuks and the Turanis were living here The Chinese were living in China and the Sasanis in Iran The Greeks were also living in this world The Jews and the Christians were also there But, who took their swords out for you To right the wrongs ? We were the only ones who fought as your warriors. Sometimes we fought on the plains and sometimes in rivers Sometimes we gave prayer calls in the churches of Europe Sometimes in the scorching deserts of Africa The world conquerors were not arrogant in their behaviour We read the kalima in the shade of the swords. We lived to bear the sufferings of the war And died to uphold the greatness of your name. The purpose of the wars we fought was not to gain power Did we wander in the world without caring for our lives for wealth ? If money was all that our nation wanted Why would we break the idols instead of selling them? We never turned our backs on the battle field The great warlords of the enemies would run away Blasphemers had to face our ire It was not just swords; we didn’t care for the canons We imprinted the message of the oneness of God on every heart We conveyed this message even under the dagger Tell us who broke the gate of the mighty fort of Khyber? Who conquered Constantine, the city of Ceasar? Who broke the idols of false gods? Who destroyed the infidel armies? Who extinguished the blaze in the fire temples of Iran? Who revived worship of The Merciful? Which was the nation that longed just for you? And bore the sufferings of the war for you? Whose sword had conquered and ruled the world ? Whose ‘takbeer’ had awakened the world? Whose fearsome reputation had terrified the idol worshippers? And they bowed down to say ‘there is only one God’. In the middle of the battle when it was time to pray, The nation of Hijaz knelt down to pray- facing the Qibla Both Mahmood and Ayaz stood in one row. No one remained a master or a slave. The slave and the master, the poor and the rich, all became one All were equal when they stood in front of you. We roamed around the world restless;oblivious of night and day We dodged like a glass of wine filled with the potion of monotheism We carried your message across mountains and deserts And do you know any instance of our failure? What is a desert, we haven’t spared the rivers for your sake We galloped our horses through the pitch-black oceans. We wiped out falsehood from this world We rescued the human race from slavery We planted your ’Kaaba’ with our foreheads We embraced your Quran Despite this, you complain that we are not loyal If we are not loyal, then even you are not generous. There exist other nations, among them are sinners Some are humble and some are arrogant Some include the idle, careless and shrewd ones Hundreds are wearied of your name Your mercies are for the outsider’s abode Lightning strikes only the poor Muslims. The idols in their temples say that the Muslims are gone They are glad that the custodians of the Kaaba are gone Hudi Singers are gone from the stage of the world They are gone with Quran in their armpits The infidels laugh at us, do you realize or not? Do you have any regard for your monotheism or not? Who lack even the etiquettes of a social conversation Irony is that the infidels got houries and palaces And the poor Muslim got a mere promise of the houries Neither the former kindness nor grace prevails The point is that we miss the prior blessings. Why Muslims are deprived of worldly wealth? Your power is endless and knows no boundaries You can spring a water bubble from the core of a desert The desert traveler can quench his thirst with that water Strangers mock, disgrace and destituteness Is humiliation the reward for the sufferings we bore for you? The world has now started to love others We are left with an imaginary world We leave now, others take over the world Do not tell us again that the world has become devoid of monotheism We live to uphold your name in the world Is it possible that the goblet exists without the cup bearer The gathering of your remembrance is over; your lovers too are gone The midnight sighs are gone, so are the morning wails They gave their hearts to you and got rewards in return They sat for a while and asked to leave Your lovers came and went away with the promise of tomorrow Search to find them will not yield any results now. The pang of Laila is the same as is the heart of Qais The deer leap in the deserts and mountains of Nejd is the same The heart of love is the same, as is the magic of the beauty The Ummah of the Prophet you sent is the same, you too are the same Then why does this indifference exists without a reason? Why are you staring at your lovers with wrathful eyes? Did we abandon You or the Prophet from Arabia? Did we make idol making our profession and left idol breaking? Did we abandon love or the passion of love? Did we abandon the practice of Salman or Owais Qarni? We keep the fire of Takbir wedged in our hearts We live a life like that of Bilal the Abyssinian. Love is bereft of its old charm Submission and acceptance lack its erstwhile intensity The turbulent heart doesn’t lead us to kaaba And it doesn’t’ abide by the laws of faithfulness Sometimes you are with us, sometimes mindful of others This is not worth telling but you are also unfaithful. You have perfected religion on the peak of Mount Faran You have won thousands of hearts with one gesture You made us burn in your love Your cheeks aflame have set the world on fire Why is it that our bosoms today are not congested with flames? We are the same burnt ones, don’t you remember? The clangour of chains no longer can be heard in the valley of Nejd Qais no longer craves for a glance of the camel’s howdah The fusty fortitude thrives no more, neither do we exist nor our hearts The hearth is wrecked, as you- the radiance of the congregation no longer exists How beauteous will be the day of the return of your glory When you will come back to us unveiled. Others enjoy the wine in the garden sitting by the river’s edge They listen to melodious songs with a glass of wine in their hands Sitting far away from this revelry in the garden Your admirers await a word from you Give your moths again the same spirit to burn for you Command the dear old fire to illuminate again. The wandering nation has again turned towards the land of Hijaz The zeal to fly has helped the wingless Nightingale take off The fragrance of submission pines in every bud of the garden You just pluck it a bit, and the instrument thirsts to play the music The songs yearn to break out of their strings Mount Sinai is restless to be ablaze with the same fire. Ease the hardships of the blessed nation Make the miserable ant take the flight of Solomon Let the unique love spread everywhere Turn the temple inmates of India into Muslims The fragrance of the flower spread out the garden’s secret What a calamity-the flowers of the garden are talebearers The season of flowers has ended and the tools of music are broken The mellifluous singers of the garden have flown away from the branches A nightingale still sings its melodies There’s still a delirium of songs in its bosom. Birds have drifted from the tree branches The flower petals have gone aflutter The enduring mien of the garden lies desolate The branches shed their leaves He is not affected by the changes in the seasons If someone in the garden could understand his cries. There is no pleasure left in dying, nor any gratification in living If there is any relish, it is in bearing this pain and sorrow How restless is the sheen of my mirror Conceits pine in my bosom None in the garden can perceive it Flowers that had a blighted bosom are no more. May the hearts be torn by the warble of this solitary nightingale May the hearts reawaken by this call of the marching bell May the hearts bustle again with a new pledge of faith May the hearts thirst for the same old wine What if the goblet is alien, my wine is Hejazi What if the song is Indian, my lay is Hijazi.