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O dejected nightingale your lament is immature still


O dejected nightingale your lament is immature still 
You should hold it in your breast for a little while still

If Intellect is prudent it is considered mature
If Love is prudent it is considered immature still

Love  fearlessly jumped into the fire of Namrud
Intellect is absorbed  in the spectacle from roof-top still

Love moves fast in action under the messenger's precept
Intellect has not even understood the Love's message still

The way of Love is freedom and world revolution
You are imprisoned in day and night's temple still

On the plea of temperance the cup-bearer says rudely
In your heart is the  same anxiety for the end still

Constant struggle is the measure for life's  Kamm and Kaif
Your measure is the counting of days and nights still

O spring rain! How long this miserliness?
The tulips of my hillside are thirsty still

They are accustomed to `Ajam's wine I have the `Arab wine 
My cup makes wine-drinkers startled still

Zepheyr has brought news about Iqbal from the garden 
The newly seized is writhing under the net still

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