(Composed in the imagined voice of Muhammad Iqbal)
Invocation
In the hush before the muezzin’s breath, a cry ascends—
Gaza, a dove whose feathers smoulder in the dark.
From minaret to mangled quay her children count the sparks
That fall like wounded constellations into an unlit sea.
O Night! you have grown old with grief; release the dawn to me.
Tremor of Two Lions
Beyond the date-palms, iron wings assault Isfahan’s rose:
Flame tongues lick the Zagros, jinn of thunder roam the sky.
Two wounded lions circle on the parchment of the earth,
Each clawing verses of revenge across the Prophet’s wind.
The planet holds its breath—yet even silence seems to bleed.
The Forgotten Trust
O child of clay, entrusted once with more than angel-light,
Why do you crouch in sleep while Iblīs plots with wakeful art?
He, though cursed, invents empires upon a single wish;
You, crown of breath, lie listless on the shards of squandered time.
Arise! Let your khudī ignite the powder of the stars.
Sundered Names
Sunni, Shīʿa—scribbles of dust upon the wind-blown glass;
Riyāḍ and Qum are mirrors if the heart can polish them.
Break the minaret of pride, the pulpit of contempt,
And hear in every differing tongue the same unspoken plea:
Lead us from rage to recognition, from claim to kinship.
The Market of Lost Souls
See how the global bazaar auctions prophets for a coin:
Children trade their orphaned dreams for screens of drifting light.
Greed installs its golden calves in every trembling town,
While oceans choke on plastic psalms and cattle graze on grief.
Shatter the idol of despair—write justice on its dust.
Learning From Every Horizon
Drink Rūmī’s turning wine, but taste Nietzsche’s salt of fire;
In Ghazālī’s lantern study Bergson’s rushing stream.
Truth is a garden with no walls—its rivers chatter many tongues;
He who walks it barefoot hears the dew recite the One.
The Eagle’s Counsel
O youth, become the shaheen whose gaze cleaves mountain gloom;
Feed on the storm itself, not carrion of second-hand belief.
Let your wings splice East with West, your talons clutch the sun,
Till tyrants learn that even night can birth a blazing dawn.
Vectors of Mercy
Stand—not with sword alone—but plough, and pen, and healing palm;
Nurse the infant of Jabalia, suture Tehran’s fevered vein.
Make every lamp in every mosque a lantern for the stranger’s door
Until the foeman’s midnight, too, is warmed by prayers of bread.
Seal of the Covenant
When bloodied earth inhales once more the breath of Rahman’s breeze,
The angels, lifting veils, will watch humanity restored to stride.
Then Gabriel will declare: The dust has learned to love at last,
And dawn—no longer hostage to the cannons of the night—
Shall climb the sky on minarets of light.
Awake, successor of Adam—
The hour has split; choose your horizon and rise.
