I

Who is that is I

Still lost in my mind.

Trying to find my purpose,

When there might not be one.

The first thing was writing

Can words truly change anything?

Why should I write,

When there is so much noise

Are you in that house,

or are you out here.

I will give up now,

This desert is just too vast.

My voice will not reach you,

Is this even a language.

What is music when there is no rhythm.

Why should I write,

When I have nothing to say.

A poem by Allama Iqbal

You are neither for the earth nor for the heavens.
The world is for you; you are not for the world.

This garden is the place for pain and prayer.
Not for picking flowers or for building a nest.

How long will you stay in the rivers of Ravi, Nile, and Farat?
Your ship was built for infinite oceans.

It was nothing, what we have exaggerated.
We made it more, just for our fantasies.

This was one of old poems I translated for a college project.