Ode to Iqbal

The distant stars,
Within your reach,
As the old month of November
Approached in its surrender
As the eyes witnessed
Storms gathered in its pace,
The tumultuous ways of the world,
In confusion and lost direction,
The revival of spirit and intellect
The old paths of glory and heart
Walks with you in the old days,
Old reminders of Cambridge and Heidelberg
Where you once became the king of beggars,
But only the dervish you remained,
These beautiful words that were written
As East became the way for direction
As you travelled from one quarter to another,
As you followed truth in your pursuit
As poetry became alive
Of new forms and its shapes
Through dreams of your existence
As heavens followed its brightest star
Across those landscapes of dust and despair,
Follows in its whispers,
The morning dew of your memory
There lived this man,
The dervish, the poet, the philosopher
Dreamer of an eagle and change…….



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