The Colourful Rose

You are not troubled with solving enigmas
O, beautiful Rose! nor do you have sublime feelings in your heart

Though you ornament the assembly, still you flower apart
In life’s assembly I am not permitted such comforts

In my garden I am the complete orchestra of longing
While your life is devoid of love’s passionate warmth

To pluck you from the branch is not my custom
I am not blinded by mere appearances

O, colorful rose this hand is not your tormentor
I am no callous flower picker! 

I am no intern to analyze you with scientific eyes
Like a lover, I see you with nightingales’ eyes

Despite your innumerable tongues, you have chosen silence
What secrets, O Rose, lie concealed in your bosom? 

Like me you’re a leaf from the garden of Ñër
Far from the garden I am, far from the garden we both are

You are content, but I am a scattered fragrance
Pierced by the sword of love in my quest

This turmoil within me might be a means of fulfillment
This torment, a source of illumination

My frailty might be the beginning of strength
My envy might mirror the cup of divination

My constant vigil is a world-illuminating candle
And teaches this steed, the human intellect, to gallop 
Allama Muhammad Iqbal

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