Why must I forever lose, forever forgo profit that is my due,
Sunk in the gloom of evenings past, no plans for the morrow pursue.
Why must I all attentive be to the nightingale’s lament,
Friend, am I as dumb as a flower? Must I remain silent?
My theme makes me bold, makes my tongue more eloquent.
Dust be in my mouth against Allah I make complain.
Before our time, a strange sight was the world You had made:
Some worshipped stone idols; others bowed to trees and prayed.
Accustomed to believing what they saw, the people’s vision wasn’t free,
How then could anyone believe in a God he couldn’t see?
Do you know of anyone one, Lord, who then took Your Name? I ask.
It was the muscle in Muslim’s arm that did Your task.
Once in the fray, firm we stood our ground, never did we yield,
The most lion- hearted of our foes reeled back and fled the field.
Those who rose against You, against them we turn our ire,
What cared we for their sabers? We fought against canon fire.
On every human heart the image of Your Oneness we drew,
Beneath the dagger’s point, we proclaimed your message true.
In the midst of raging battle if the time came to pray,
Hejazi’s turn toMecca, kissed the earth and ceased from fray.
Sultan and slave in single file stood side by side,
Then no servant was nor master, nothing did them divide.
Between serf and lord, needy and rich, difference there was none.
When they appeared in your court, they came as equals and one.
Did we abandon You or Your Arab messenger forsake?
Did we trade in making idols? Did we not idols break ?
Did we forsake love because of the anguish with which it’s fraught?
Give up the tradition of Salaman, forgot what Owais Qarani taught?
The flame of Allah’s greatness still in our hearts we nourish.
The life of Bilal the Ethiop remains the model that we cherish.
Strangers revel in the garden, besides a stream they are sitting;
Wine goblets in their hands, hearing the cuckoo singing.
Far from the garden, far from its notes of revelry,
Your lovers sit by themselves awaiting the moment to praise You.
Rekindle in Your moths passion to burn themselves on the flame;
Bid the old lightning strike, brand our breasts with Your name.
In giving up our lives there is no gladness, nor is there joy in living:
The only pleasure is in writing verses and in our own heart’s blood drinking.
My mind’s mirror is studded with many gems sparkling bright;
In my breast are locked visions aching to burst into light.
But there are none in the garden with eyes to attest;
Not one bleeding tulip bearing a scar within its breast.
Here is video for the complete whole nazam with English poerty
Part 1
[yt]QWTlR_91UaM[/yt]
Part 2
[yt]8xs0jr6hKJE[/yt]
Sunk in the gloom of evenings past, no plans for the morrow pursue.
Why must I all attentive be to the nightingale’s lament,
Friend, am I as dumb as a flower? Must I remain silent?
My theme makes me bold, makes my tongue more eloquent.
Dust be in my mouth against Allah I make complain.
Before our time, a strange sight was the world You had made:
Some worshipped stone idols; others bowed to trees and prayed.
Accustomed to believing what they saw, the people’s vision wasn’t free,
How then could anyone believe in a God he couldn’t see?
Do you know of anyone one, Lord, who then took Your Name? I ask.
It was the muscle in Muslim’s arm that did Your task.
Once in the fray, firm we stood our ground, never did we yield,
The most lion- hearted of our foes reeled back and fled the field.
Those who rose against You, against them we turn our ire,
What cared we for their sabers? We fought against canon fire.
On every human heart the image of Your Oneness we drew,
Beneath the dagger’s point, we proclaimed your message true.
In the midst of raging battle if the time came to pray,
Hejazi’s turn toMecca, kissed the earth and ceased from fray.
Sultan and slave in single file stood side by side,
Then no servant was nor master, nothing did them divide.
Between serf and lord, needy and rich, difference there was none.
When they appeared in your court, they came as equals and one.
Did we abandon You or Your Arab messenger forsake?
Did we trade in making idols? Did we not idols break ?
Did we forsake love because of the anguish with which it’s fraught?
Give up the tradition of Salaman, forgot what Owais Qarani taught?
The flame of Allah’s greatness still in our hearts we nourish.
The life of Bilal the Ethiop remains the model that we cherish.
Strangers revel in the garden, besides a stream they are sitting;
Wine goblets in their hands, hearing the cuckoo singing.
Far from the garden, far from its notes of revelry,
Your lovers sit by themselves awaiting the moment to praise You.
Rekindle in Your moths passion to burn themselves on the flame;
Bid the old lightning strike, brand our breasts with Your name.
In giving up our lives there is no gladness, nor is there joy in living:
The only pleasure is in writing verses and in our own heart’s blood drinking.
My mind’s mirror is studded with many gems sparkling bright;
In my breast are locked visions aching to burst into light.
But there are none in the garden with eyes to attest;
Not one bleeding tulip bearing a scar within its breast.
Here is video for the complete whole nazam with English poerty
Part 1
[yt]QWTlR_91UaM[/yt]
Part 2
[yt]8xs0jr6hKJE[/yt]
