Poetic Renditions
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ترے عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں ۔ علامہ اقبال
Translated into English
by Daniele Speziale, Zehra Khan, Fatima Malik, and Muniba Mahmud
Introduction by Ayesha Waheed
A rendition of a work focuses on conveying its essence while a translation of it focuses on accurately conveying the originally intended meaning. There’s a fine line between the two, and you may find a bit of both as you read each piece in this section, where different poets from around the world offer their version of the same poem in a new language. Together, they are a celebration of the original work.
ترے عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں
علامہ اقبال
ترے عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں
مری سادگی دیکھ کیا چاہتا ہوں
ستم ہو کہ ہو وعدۂ بے حجابی
کوئی بات صبرآزما چاہتا ہوں
یہ جنّت مبارک رہے زاہدوں کو
کہ میں آپ کا سامنا چاہتا ہوں
ذرا سا تو دل ہوں مگر شوخ اتنا
وہی لن ترانی سُنا چاہتا ہوں
کوئی دَم کا مہماں ہوں اے اہلِ محفل
چراغِ سحَر ہوں، بُجھا چاہتا ہوں
بھری بزم میں راز کی بات کہہ دی
بڑا بے ادب ہوں، سزا چاہتا ہوں
The ghazal ترے عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں feels like a heartfelt conversation, a window into Iqbal’s soul searching for something beyond the ordinary. Iqbal’s words express a deep longing that is so pure yet so daring, a desire to reach the ultimate truth, whether in love, faith, or struggle. His words make me pause and wonder: What does it truly mean to want something beyond what most people can even imagine?
The opening lines, “عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں/ مری سادگی دیکھ کیا چاہتا ہوں”, reflect the depth of his craving for the absolute in love. He asks for more than this world can offer, yet expresses it with such simplicity, almost like a child asking for the impossible. This contrast between simplicity and audacity is what makes the ghazal so touching.
What I love most is the honesty in Iqbal’s words. In the ghazal, he makes it clear that heaven does not matter to him. All he desires is to stand face-to-face with the divine. It is such a bold and beautiful thought, isn’t it? To not care about rewards but to seek only connection.
This raw honesty continues in the ending, which feels deeply human. Iqbal acknowledges his mistakes and admits that he may have said things he shouldn’t have. But there is no regret, no fear, and no apology. Instead, there is courage and a willingness to face the consequences.
Your love’s infinity
Your love’s infinity—that’s what I want…
Naive as it may be! That’s what I want.
Through cruelty, or promised veil-lessness
Test my tenacity—that’s what I want.
Believers may enjoy their Paradise
To e’er be facing Thee—that’s what I want.
A tiny heart am I, and yet so bold
To hear “thou shan’t see me”—that’s what I want.
Oh gath’ring-goers, I shall not stay long!
My lamp’s about to die—that’s what I want
I publicly spilt secrets—punish me
for my audacity, that’s what I want.
§
The exercise of translating ghazals always carries multiple genre-specific challenges: should the translator be literal, even when the symbolism (such as “promise-of-veil-lessness”) is so far from the Anglophone imagery? Should/can the rhymes and refrains be preserved? Importantly, can one replicate the musicality that essentially separates the ghazal from any other aazaad/free compositions?
To me, translating ghazals always went beyond a purely linguistic endeavor—it was also a formal, metrical experiment aimed at helping establish the ghazal (with all her rules) as a recognizable genre in English poetry, an effort already spearheaded by poets such as Agha Shahid Ali. The aim is not just to write a “translated ghazal”, but rather to come up with a proper “English ghazal” which may be called so by virtue of its adherence to traditional rules. For this text, I thus attempted a translation in iambic pentameter. The poem is linguistically very straightforward, with the main semantic challenge right at the start: the word “intihaa”. While I opted for “infinity”, I recognize this is quite opposite to what the word truly means, that is “utmost extent, endpoint”. Besides considerations of rhyme, “infinity” did convey for me something unattainable to the poet, thus emphasizing the naiveté of his desire.
I Desire Your Absolute Love
I desire your absolute love,
Look at the simplicity of what I desire
Cruelty, it may be, or the promise of intimacy,
I desire something that demands my patience
May the ascetics rejoice in Heaven,
I desire only to meet you
Though just a little heart, I am audacious,
I desire to hear the same self-praise
O gatherers! I am but a guest for a few breaths,
I am a night-lamp at the cusp of extinguishment
I have spoken a secret into a full gathering,
I am discourteous, I desire punishment.
§
Published in 1905 in the first part of the Baang-e-Dara, “Tire ishq kī intihā chāhtā huuñ” is one of Allama Iqbal’s most well-read and well-recalled ghazals. Like most of Iqbal’s poetic writings, this ghazal can be interpreted in two ways: as a man’s adoration of a lady love or as a man’s worship of God.
Adhering to the conventions of a ghazal, the six verses do not have a title and the first line of the first verse or the matla, functions as the working title of the ghazal. This is because, unlike a poem, all verses of a ghazal do not have to be written about a single topic or concern; for instance, in this particular ghazal, the fifth and, somewhat obliquely, the last verse does not directly signal to romantic or divine love.
This ghazal talks about the condition of the poet instead of the beauty of his beloved so it was important for me to retain the ‘I’ in each sentence it was originally present in and to begin with the ‘I’ for each sentence that I could.
Many words in the Urdu lexicon, especially those associated with romantic love and divine submission, carry a gravity or charge which is hard to come by in the English dictionary. “Chāhtā huuñ”, or literally “I want” does not contain the substance that wanting in love holds. Thus, I opted for the more amorously charged ‘I desire’ to connote the presence of love. Similarly, while “intihā“ is boundary or limit, I chose “absolute” to signal to the wholeness of the love desired by the poet. While words like “complete”, “undivided” and “untarnished” came to my mind, I could not substantiate the love being faulty or incomplete from any reference in the ghazal.
Numerous words and phrases illustrate the duality of meaning in the ghazal. The word intihā’ itself points to a perfect love, one that may or may not be humanly possible; another reason why I chose “absolute” instead of “undivided” or “untarnished”, since division and wear cannot be attributed to God. “Vada-e-be-hijābī” which would literally translate to the promise of frank meetings without veils can simultaneously signal to a veiled lady love and to the metaphysical veil that divides this world and the next and makes God invisible to man. References to Heaven further strengthen both explanations. In the second half of the ghazal¸ the poet emphasizes his own insignificance by calling himself “zarā sā to dil“, “koī dam kā mehmāñ“, “charāġh-e-sahar” and “barā be-adab“. These phrases can be interpreted as submitting to the vanities of humanly affections or as the smallness of the poet in front of his divine beloved, God.
The work of a poet blurs the boundary between the world and the divine, just as the work of a translator blurs the boundary between languages. No translation can ever be perfect, unlike the love Iqbal invokes, and while it is both terrifying and an honour to translate this ghazal, my greatest hope has been to maintain both the romantic and mystic adoration to which this ghazal owes its mastery.
Your Infinite Love: Is What I Desire
ترے عشق کی انتہا چاہتا ہوں
مری سادگی دیکھ کیا چاہتا ہوں
Your Infinite Love: is what I desire
Witness the purity of my desire
ستم ہو کہ ہو وعدۂ بے حجابی
کوئی بات صبرآزما چاہتا ہوں
Affliction—then, a promise of unveiling
Put my patience to test: that’s my desire
یہ جنّت مبارک رہے زاہدوں کو
کہ میں آپ کا سامنا چاہتا ہوں
Reserve the Divine Garden for the virtuous
For me? Your presence is all I desire
ذرا سا تو دل ہوں مگر شوخ اتنا
وہی لن ترانی سُنا چاہتا ہوں
An insignificant heart that’s yet so bold:
To hear too, “You can’t see Me*”, I desire
کوئی دَم کا مہماں ہوں اے اہلِ محفل
چراغِ سحَر ہوں، بُجھا چاہتا ہوں
I’m mortal, of finite breaths, o fellow guests
A lamp at dawn: to be doused, I desire
بھری بزم میں راز کی بات کہہ دی
بڑا بے ادب ہوں، سزا چاہتا ہوں
I’ve shared my secret in a large gathering,
I’m impertinent: reproach, I desire
*Original words: Lan Tarani
The reference is to the narration of Moosa’s (Moses’) story in the Quran. When Moosa A.S. asked to see God,
he was told “Lan tarani”, which may be translated to, “You can’t see Me”
§
I’m the impertinent one here, attempting to translate Iqbal. I fall short: for Iqbal embeds profound thoughts in beautifully crafted verse, whereas I lack comprehension and written ability alike.
I’ve translated in the English ghazal style, to maintain a meter and rhyme scheme and to align with the form of the original Urdu poem. The translation, however, does not keep to the same meter and rhyme as the original given the differences in the poetic form and vocabulary of both languages.
This is a poem which I’ve long loved and been familiar with—and I have been keen to see what I can do to bring a semblance of the message to a wider readership through this English translation.
As part of my process, I have looked up meanings of words to confirm my understanding. I’ve thought through best-fit translations of words and concepts that retain the original message and also align to the comprehension of an English readership. I can only hope that I’ve done a reasonable job.
The Vanishing Point of Your Love
The vanishing point of your love—that’s what I want
See how simple I am, and how simple my want
Be it cruelty or a promise—to reveal yourself
Something to serve as a test—that’s what I want
The pious and abstinent, they’re welcome to eden
Beholding your countenance—that’s what I want
My heart is a little thing, but oh, so playful
As folks boast, I listen—as is my wont
Fellow guests, I’m but a fleeting participant among you
Behold the night lamp, near snuffed out—as I am wont
I revealed to the whole gathering that which was secret
My rudeness be punished—yes, that’s what I want
§
The beauty of a ghazal is its rhyme and its refrain. So I wanted to maintain that in my translation. I did toy with some different approaches, such as starting the line with “I want” instead of ending on it since that’s more natural in the English syntax, but it didn’t work with the internal rhythms of the piece. To me, a small triumph of the piece is arriving at “wont” to indicate the second meaning of the phrase “chahta hoon”—that something is imminent as well as desired. Over all, I tried to stay very close to the original.
Allama Iqbal (1877–1938) was more than just a poet; he was a dreamer and a thinker who inspired millions with his words. Through his poetry he encouraged people to look within themselves and find strength. His ideas about unity and spirituality helped spark the movement for Pakistan. His renowned collections such as Bang-e-Dara, Bal-e-Jibril, and Zarb-i-Kalim show the depth of his thoughts on self-awareness, social change, and spiritual growth. Even today his poems speak to the heart, guiding people to live with purpose and passion.
Ayesha Waheed is a reader and writer with a deep love for words. She has a special interest in culture and heritage, which often inspire her work. In her free time, Ayesha enjoys visiting historic buildings, exploring new places, and trying new experiences.
Daniele Speziale, also known by the pen-name Rahi Italvi, was born in 1998. He is a social worker and a budding writer and translator from Italy. He currently lives and works with an NGO in Kinshasa, D.R. Congo. Daniele is also a graduate in MSc Development Studies from SOAS, University Of London, and has experience working with grassroot organizations in a variety of countries. A polyglot, Daniele has studied around 15 languages, with a predilection for Hindustani in which he also composes poetry under the pen-name of Rahi Italvi. In 2022, Daniele was a finalist in the Jawad Ali Memorial Prize For Urdu-English Translation, and his Hindustani poetry is currently being published on Rekhta.
Zehra Khan is an artist and writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She graduated with a Bachelor in Fine Art from the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, majoring in drawing and printmaking. Her artistic interests lie in colonial and postcolonial studies, South Asian history, and migration studies. Zehra attended the 2022 LUMS Young Writers’ Workshop, and was a South Asia Speaks Fiction Fellow and a Write Beyond Borders Fiction Fellow in 2023. She is currently working on her first novel, a fictional re-telling of the 1971 Partition of Pakistan, as well as on a collection of stories about cats. You can find her visual work on Instagram and her writing on her personal WordPress. You can reach her here.
Muniba Mahmud is a writer, poet and performer, whose work frequently explores the intersection of identity, heritage, spirituality, and social justice. She runs Rawanee, a creative and literary arts initiative dedicated to fostering and preserving authentic creative expression from underrepresented communities.
Fatima Malik is a Pakistani-American poet with work published or forthcoming in Chestnut Review, diode poetry journal, The Georgia Review, the Asian American Writers’ Workshop’s The Margins, Waxwing, and others. She is working on her first full-length collection of poems, an excavation of grief after her father’s sudden death. She has a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing from Dartmouth College and a joint MA in Journalism and Near Eastern Studies from New York University. While she currently lives in New York City, her heart is forever in Lahore.