When that Beniaz opens His Graceful Hand
Why should the niazmand be not proud of his humility
You have confined Him to the ‘Arsh, O preacher !
What kind of God would keep away from His people?
In my view he is not a rind at all, O cup-bearer
Who would distinguish between ecstasy and lack of it
Always remain very attentive to the heart, this orchestra is such
If broken, it would produce the music of the Secret
Somebody should ask how it hurts the preacher
If God shows His Grace even to the sinner
O God! From where does poetry acquire its heat?
This is a thing with which even stone would soften
Nightingale’s lament comes from discrimination between tulip and rose
No one in the world should open the discriminating eye
The arrogance of piety has taught the preacher
To use abusive language to the people of God
Such wind should blow from India, O Iqbal
Which would blow me as dust to Hijaz