DESIRE

DESIRE W I S H O Allah! The practices of these people are so boring that even in the midst of them, I feel so lonely. The noise of the world, asks me to escape to a quiet place in the starting and ending the silence every day. A place where traffic always yields to silence and the language is totally intimidated by the silence. Sometimes I am dying for this peace, to live in a hut near a mountain is pure. The burden of the world conces me very much, and I would part them then I can not live alone, while the thos of pain in my heart. These birds are singing in that tree all day ... Their chirping is beautiful and it is my song. If I were music I need to hear the sound of the waterfall. The harmony between the birds' song, and the water flowing down. The wine cup is in my opinion, the eyes of my messengers. The two friends inform me of every visitor. With my hand on a cushion and the grass for my bed, I passed the nights with good thoughts in my head. This is the best way to live in the midst of all these quiet solitude. It helps, shame on you and open the eyes of the multitude. The nightingale has me so well that sit nearby, because they know that I do not have everything you fear. On both sides of the river watching their flowers considerations in crisp, clear blue water that flows perfectly. The mountains just over the river is exquisitely beautiful that even the water is trying to increase in waves, only to be seen. In the bosom of the earth all the Greens are at rest, and the water back into bushes glisten at its best. Look at his reflection is the bending branch of a tree, as a girl perches with a mirror, admiring her beauty. When the sun makes the evening bridal henna, flowers, a casket of gold that the bride can use this together with you, as a gift of the rest. When travelers get tired at night and are looking for a place to stay, we believe that the lamp is broken, with the hope that you're walking my way. O Allah! When the dark clouds in the sky, we flash illuminate my hut, so that no one passes by. The early twilight of the cuckoo is called for prayer, and I feel instead of the priest of the sermons I hear on azaan from this bird. When falls the dew on the flowers as a ceremonial cleansing, My tears wudu will be my prayer and my own is a blessing. Whether my voice from this place, and avoid touching the caravan of stars above me, so they can ring a bell to signify that we should all live peacefully. O Allah! Let my cry All these Ache empathetic heart, and those who are indifferent or unconscious, awake. Rendering of a poetry of Allama Iqbal poetry EK ARCH By: Shadi Alam Courtesy: