The Heart and Soul of Iqbal

When flowers’ bookshop opened in the garden, Mullah’s bookish knowledge lost all value.

The spring breeze was exhilarating, poise-breaking, the old man of Indrab burst into ghazal-singing.

The tulip, of fiery skirt, said: it doth reveal the secrets of the soul.

Who calls sleep awhile in the grave as eternal death, sows seeds of destruction in the earth

Life is not a succession of days and nights, nor is it intoxication and dreamy sleep;

Life is to burn in one’s fire: happy is the man who grasps this truth.

If thou snatch’st a spark from heart’s fire, thou canst be a sun under the sky.