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Shikwa
THE COMPLAINT(Poem)
https://youtu.be/mrgbbziN2so
Why should I choose the loser’s role? Forbear to seek what gain I may?
Nor think of what the morrow holds, But brood o’er woes of yesterday?
Why should my ears enraptured hear the plaintive notes of Philomel?
Fellow-bard! a rose am I to lose me in sweet music’s swell?
For I too have the gift of song which gives me courage to complain,
But ah! ‘tis none but God Himself whom I, in sorrow, must arraign!
I grant that we have earned repute as ever reconciled to Fate,
But to You still a tale of pain I can no longer help narrate.
Though we may seem like voiceless lyres, within, imprisoned anguish cries;
Its urge compels, and I obey, Framing these plaintive melodies.  
Hear You, O God! these sad complaints from those of proven fealty;
From lips accustomed but to praise. Hear You these words in blame of You!
From when eternal Time began, Your Timeless Self had also been;
But then no breeze its sweetness spread though the Rose reigned the garden’s queen.
Canst You, in justice, but confess, O Lord! from whom all favours flow,
Had not the south wind toiled in love the world Your fragrance would not know?
The glad travail we sought for You Rejoiced our souls and was our pride—
Thinkst You the followers of Your Friend Insanely spread Your Truth so wide?
Before we came, how strange a sight was this most beauteous world of Thine (yours)!
For here to stones men bowed their heads, and there in trees did ‘gods’ enshrine!
Their unenlightened minds could seize nought else but what their eyes could see,
You know, Lord, Your writ ran not—Man neither knew nor worshipped Thee (You)!
And canst You say that even once one of these did Your name recite?
It was the might of Muslim arms fulfilled Your task and gave them Light.
Yet once there lived the Seljuks here, Turanians too, and wise Chinese,
Sasanians drew their breath and thrived In rose-perfumed Iranian breeze;
And elsewhere in Your peopled world the Greeks of Yunan held their sway,
While sons of Israel side by side with Christian nations had their day.
But which among these nations raised the sacred sword in Holy fight,
Self-consecrated to Your cause, to set their crazy world aright?
’Tis we and we alone who thronged as warriors on Your fields of fray,
And now upon the land we fought and now upon the salt sea spray.
We made our Azan’s call resound beneath proud spires in Western lands,
And made that magic melody thrill over Afric’s burning sands.
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