Selected poetry from Hazrat Mian Muhammad Baksh Saheb’s “Saif-ul-Malook”. English translation by Khamosh Tamashai.
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Iqbal Bahu
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“Saif-ul-Malook”
(Part 1 of 8 )
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Firstly all praise to Allah, who is the owner of everything,
Whoever remembers His name is never a loser in any field.
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Pour the rain of mercy, O Allah! turn the shriveled garden green,
Make the plant my hopes and longings full of fruit.
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In this wonderful garden He planted the plant of Adam,
With the fruits of His recognition, adorned it with wonderful fruits.
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Free of any dwelling Himself, no dwelling is free of Him,
All the time, all the things, Muhammad, He keeps in good order.
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Whoever provisions He has decided for anybody, that written He never cancels,
Even seeing tens of millions of faults, He nourishes as before.
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What a kind guardian (PBUH) of the Muslim Umma, he loves and intercedes,
The likes of Gabriel are in whose service, the leader of the Prophets.
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He (PBUH) is the beloved of Allah, a helper on the day of judgment,
Himself an orphan, he consoles and protects the orphans.
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I, a sinner, ashamed, a liar, filled with sins,
Have only a single hope, that from your doorstep; have no other protection.
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I am blind, and the path is slippery, how can I be keep myself steady?
There are many to push, only you to hold my hand.
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Listen to my urging, O guide of guides, please dont push me,
You are a guardian of the weak, God has given you honor.
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Who don’t carry any money with them, they return empty handed from bazar,
All is in destiny, O Muhammad Bakhsh, what can be the remedy without fate?
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Repeatedly taking the blows of defeats, don’t lose heart, one day tide will turn,
When a hungry man turns to begging, Muhammad, Ultimately he fills the bowl.
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The talk of the sad ones, Muhammad, bears witness to their condition,
Whoever has wrapped flowers, his handkerchief emits fragrance.
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In the world my life is indeed useless,
My heart had sought you; you did not remain friend.
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I have taken what I had to, from what was written in my fate,
With the ones who don’t care, Muhammad, what power do we poor have?
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I have spent my life in love, let me see one more time,
These eyes have seen you, may they be useless to see anything else.
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Enough I am powerless to do anything; what else can I say about losing you?
What power does a weak have, Muhammad? either running away or crying.
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In the house of beloved, aloofness helps the needy,
On whosoever He places his sight, he wins the game.
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