This poem was written in Europe at the time of the death of ‘Allama Iqbal’s mother. It is not only an expression of his grief on this sad incident but is also an expression of the philosophy of life and death and the grief created by them. It expands the thoughts expressed in Poem No. 82 Falsafah-i-Gham (The Philosophy of Grief). In spite of realizing that everything in the universe is subject to the Will and Command of God the news of his mother’s death was too hard to bear. He reminisces his whole life and recapitulates some memorable events of his domestic life. He explains with several examples , that death is a transitory phase in existence and is not designed to annihilate a person. The last verse of stanza 8 is important. By comparing man with stars he presents the Islamic concept of man’s superiority over the rest of creation. The last two verses of stanza 10 are important. Though time mitigates all grief the loss of his mother has caused him so much grief that time cannot reduce it. The poem ends in a supplication to God for his mother.
Translation
Every particle of the universe is a prisoner of destiny
Prudence is a cover for helplessness and compulsion
The sky, the sun and the moon all are helpless
The fast moving stars are compelled to moving
Breaking is the end of flower bud’s pitcher in the garden
The garden’s verdure and flowers are also compelled to grow
It may be nightingale’s song or conscience’ silent call
Everything is chained in the same universal chain!
When this secret of helplessness becomes evident to the eye
The turbulent flood of tears in the heart dries up
The dance of pleasure and grief does not remain in the human heart
The song remains but the pleasure of treble and bass does not remain
Knowledge and wisdom are robbers of tears and sighs’ wealth
That is the intelligent heart is a piece of diamond!
Though the dew’s freshness does not exist in my garden
My eye is not enriched with the red tears
Ah! I am aware of the secret of human afflictions
But my nature’s orchestra is unaware of complaint’s song
The story of vicissitudes of time does not come on my lips
My heart is not astonished, not laughing, not crying
But O messenger, your picture is one of constant wailing
Ah! this is the contradiction of my firm wisdom!
Life’s foundation becomes lasting with overflowing wailing
The hard hearted Intellect is embarrassed with the knowledge of pathos
My mirror is bright with the wave of sighs’ smoke
My skirt is full with the treasure of tears
The miracle of your picture has surprised me
Which has completely changed the flight of time
As if it brought the past and present together
It acquainted me again with the age of infancy
When that feeble soul was being nurtured by your side
Whose tongue was not adequately familiar with talking
And whose linguistic spice is now the subject of conversation
The pearls of whose jewel-shedding eyes are priceless
The learning’s serious discourses, the shrewdness of old age
The dignity of worldly honors, the pride of young age
We descend from the positions of dignity in life
We descend as a simple child in the lap of the mother
We are laughing informally, we are free from care
We are once more living in the same lost paradise
Ah! Who will now be waiting for me in the homeland?
Who will become restless by not getting my letter?
I will come to your grave carrying this lament
To whose thoughts will I come in the midnight prayers?
With your up-bringing I became fortunate like stars
The house of my ancestors became a source of pride
Your life was written in gold letters in the existence’ book
Your life was a full lesson of secular and religious education
Your love remained in my service for your whole life
When I was able to serve you, you did not survive
That youth who equals the slender cypress in stature 1
Who became more fortunate in serving you than me
That constant companion of mine in the business of life
That picture of yours in love, that source of my strength
He is crying like a helpless infant for you
He is crying with impatience from morning till evening
The love whose seed you planted in our life’s field
By the grief of separation that love became more firm
Ah! This world, this mourning place for the young and old!
In what a strange ever-changing prison man is imprisoned!
How difficult it is to live! How easy it is to die!
In the existence’ garden death is cheap as breeze!
There are earthquakes, thunderbolts, famines, afflictions
How diverse the daughters of the mother of time are!
In poor man’s hovel, in rich man’s mansion is death
In forest, house, city, garden, wilderness is death
Death is tumultuous in the silent ocean
Boats are drowned in the lap of death
Neither there is ability to complain, nor power of speech
Life nothing but is a yoke choking the throat
In the caravan nothing but bell’s wailing exists
Nothing except the valuable weeping eye exists!
However, this period of trial will also come to its end
Behind the sky’s nine orbits there are other orbits also 2
What if the tulips and roses in this garden are afflicted?
What if nightingales are compelled to wail and complain?
The bushes, which are burnt by the sighs of the autumn
Will green up when the breezes of the invigorating spring flow
What if our spark is asleep in the dust of the shield?
What if this handful of dust is our temporary abode?
The end of the fire of life is not in the ashes!
This is not the jewel whose destiny is breaking!
Life is such a beloved in the eye of Nature
Life’s preservation is in everything’s nature
If the death’s hand could efface life’s picture
The system of the universe would not have made it so common
If it is cheap then think that death is nothing
Just as there is no break in living by sleeping
Ah ! O imprudent one! Death’s hidden secret is something different!
The instability of the picture exhibits something different!
The picture of wind over water is sight’s paradise
By break in the restless wave it makes the bubbles
It conceals it again in the skirt of the wave!
How mercilessly it demolishes its own picture
If the wind could not create its bubble again
The wind would not have broken it so carelessly
What is the effect of this custom on the form of creation?
This is the proof of the power of wind over creation
If the existence’ nature be not in search of longing
It would never be in search of the better form!
Ah ! The restless mercury, the sky brightening stars
The heat of these sparks is obligated to the night
Their antiquity is bewildering to the Intellect
The history of the human race is a mere moment for them
Then this Man whose vision is directed to the celestial world
Who is more immaculate in his goals than qudsis 3
Who is lighted up like a candle in the assembly of Nature
In the expanse of whose nature celestial world is a mere dot
Whose ignorance is restless to know the Truth
Whose nail is the plectrum to the harp of existence
Is this flame inferior than the sky’s sparks even?
Is our sun less precious than the stars even?
The eye of flower’s seed is awake even under the soil
How restless for growth and development the seed is
The flame of life which is concealed in this grain
Is under compulsion for self-assertion and growth
Even with the grave’s cold it cannot become dispirited
Even by being buried under soil it cannot become cold!
Becoming a flower, it comes out of its grave
That is it gets the robe of life from its death
Grave is the organizer of its scattered powers
Which is throwing its rope-ladder round sky’s neck
Death is the name of the renewal of life’s taste
Behind the veil of sleep it is a message of awakening
The one accustomed to flight is not afraid of flight!
Death in this garden is nothing but readying for flight!
People say that the pain of death is incurable
Separation’s wound is cured with time’s salve
But the heart where the grief of the dead ones is living
Is free from the loop of the chain of morning and evening
Mourning’s wailing does not stop with the spell of time
Time is no salve for the wound of separation’s sword
When some sudden calamity befalls us
Tears come out of the eyes constantly
The heart becomes accustomed to wailing and complaint
The heart’s blood drips from the tearful eyes
Though Man is deprived of the power of patience
This sub-conscious feeling always exists in his nature
The essence of Man does not become annihilated
He disappears from sight but is not annihilated
The baggage of life is dust with the flame of grief
This fire is cooled with this subtle feeling’s water
Ah! This control of wailing is not negligence’ silence
This consolation is awareness, it is not forgetfulness!
When the dawn manifests itself from the east
It washes away the night’s stain from the world’s skirt
It clothes the melancholy tulip in red garb
It makes the silent bird intoxicated with music
The song is freed from the nightingale’s breast
The morning breeze is so full of hundreds of tunes
Those who in rose beds, mountains and brooks were sleeping
At long last in the morning the bride of life are embracing
If the law of life is that every night dawn be
Why the end of Man’s grave should not his dawn be
The net of my silvery imagination is universal
In which I have imprisoned your remembrance!
The affliction stricken heart is filled with your memory
As in the Ka’bah the expanse is filled with supplications!
The sequence of Divine commands which is called life
Its manifestations are covering myriad of unstable worlds
The ways of every stage of life are different
Hereafter also is a marshaling place of life!
Nothing is available there to the death’s field
But the climate is favorable for action’s seed
The light of nature is not imprisoned in body’s darkness
The expanse of the human thought is not so narrow
Your life was brighter than even the moon
Your journey was better than even that of the morning star
May your grave be bright like the dawn’s mansion
May this dusty bed-chamber of yours be light-filled!
May the sky be spraying dew on your grave!
May the freshly grown grass be guarding this house!
