شعاع اميد

The sun conveyed this message to its rays: ‘What wonder great, the change of nights and days.

You have been rambling since aeons in space, but hate among men is increasing 'pace.

To shine on sand affords no pleasure sound, nor peace, like breeze in making flower's round.

Be lost in fount of light that gave you birth, forsake the park, the waste, the roof and earth’.

The rays rise from every nook of space, make haste to take the sun in fond embrace.

Loud roar persists, there can't be light in West, for smoke makes West enrobed in able vest.

Though East is not bereft of inner light, yet quiet of tomb prevails like Celestial Height.

O sun that light the world keep us in mind, hide us in breast so bright and kind.

A shameless ray as proud as houri's glance bereft of rest, like mercury e'er at dance.

Implored the sun to let it spread its light till every mote of East grows lustrous bright.

The dark surroundings of Hind it won't forsal till natives sunk in slumber do not wake.

The hopes of Orient on this region hinge, the tears that Iqbal sheds on it impinge.

The moon and Pleiades get light from this land; its stones are costlier than gems of purest brand.

It has produced men who hid sense can see, with utmost ease can cross the swollen sea.

The harp whose music warmth to gathering lent with force quite spent the plectrum alien is'.

The Brahman guards the fane and sleeps at gate, the Muslim in mosque's niche, bewails his Fate.

Don't shun the East, nor look on West with scorn, since Nature yearns for change of night to morn.