Iqbal Safipuri
Pen-name of Iqbal Ahmad Khaleeli, a Sufi-register Urdu poet from Safipur in Unnao, U.P. His best-known ghazal, 'dil pe zakhm khate hain', travelled the world as a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan qawwali — and is constantly assumed to be Allama Iqbal's, purely because the two share the takhallus 'Iqbal'. They are entirely different poets. His verse is collected under the title Shaakh-e-Gul.
Collected in Shaakh-e-Gul · immortalised in Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's qawwali
Iqbal Safipuri is one of those poets the wider world knows by a single, unforgettable line without ever learning the name behind it. His ghazal 'dil pe zakhm khate hain, jaan se guzarte hain' became a global standard once Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan set it to music, and it has since been sung, sampled and quoted far beyond the Urdu-reading world — almost always with no idea of who wrote it.
The archives give us the man behind the line. 'Iqbal' was his takhallus; his name was Iqbal Ahmad Khaleeli, and 'Safipuri' is the nisba of Safipur, the town he belonged to in the Unnao district of Uttar Pradesh. The sources differ on when he was born — Rekhta records 1916, Sufinama 1921 — but agree that he died in 1999. Sufinama files him among the Sufi poets, and the register fits: his verse moves easily between the beloved's quarter and the precincts of the tavern, love read as a discipline of devotion. His couplets are gathered in the collection Shaakh-e-Gul ('the flowering branch'), the source of the canonical text of his famous ghazal, and he left other ghazals in the same wine-and-longing key.
He is owed one specific act of justice, which is the reason this page insists on his full name. Because 'Iqbal' is his pen-name, the ghazal is endlessly misattributed to Allama Muhammad Iqbal — the philosopher-poet this whole site is built around. They are not the same person, and the two could hardly be more different in register: where Allama Iqbal writes the self into cosmic and political ambition, Safipuri writes the small, wounded, faithful heart of the classical lover. Keeping his name attached to his work is exactly the kind of correction this shelf exists to make.
dil pe zakhm khate hain
jurm sirf itna hai un ko pyar karte hain
जुर्म सिर्फ़ इतना है उन को प्यार करते हैं
ai gham-e-zamana hum tujh ko yaad karte hain
ऐ ग़म-ए-ज़माना हम तुझ को याद करते हैं
gardishen thaharti hain hum jahan thahrte hain
गर्दिशें ठहरती हैं हम जहाँ ठहरते हैं
jab wo ajnabi ban kar yaas se guzarte hain
जब वो अजनबी बन कर यास से गुज़रते हैं
We take the wounds upon our heart, we give our very life away — and our only crime is this: that we love them. When she turns her eyes away and passes close beside me, it is then, O sorrow of the world, that I remember you — my one faithful companion. Whether it is the beloved's quarter or the precincts of the tavern, the wheeling of the heavens comes to rest wherever I choose to halt. And my faith in love only deepens — each time she, now turned a stranger, passes by wrapped in her own despair.
This is the complete ghazal as the Sufinama archive preserves it — four couplets, sourced to Safipuri's collection Shaakh-e-Gul. If you know it from Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's qawwali, you will have heard many more verses than these four, and wondered where they are. The answer is the qawwali tradition itself: qawwals extend a piece by weaving in girah — couplets borrowed from elsewhere — some by other poets entirely, and some drawn from the poet's own other ghazals in the same wine-and-longing register. A sung performance is therefore an anthology, not a single poem. What you see here is Safipuri's own ghazal, restored to its written length and author; his other ghazals — several of which share this exact mood — are gathered just below.
jurm sirf itna hai un ko pyar karte hain
“We take the wounds upon our heart, we give our very life away — and our only crime is this: that we love them.”
ai gham-e-zamana hum tujh ko yaad karte hain
“When she turns her eyes away and passes close beside me — it is then, O sorrow of the world, that I remember you.”
gardishen thaharti hain hum jahan thahrte hain
“Be it the beloved's quarter or the precincts of the tavern — the wheeling of the heavens comes to rest wherever I choose to halt.”
jab wo ajnabi ban kar yaas se guzarte hain
“My faith in love only grows the stronger — each time she, now turned a stranger, passes by wrapped in her own despair.”
na to mai-kade ki hai justuju
jo nafs nafs ko pila gai mujhe us nigah se kaam hai
जो नफ़्स नफ़्स को पिला गई मुझे उस निगाह से काम है
ki gadai dar-e-mai-kada mari tishnagi pe haram hai
कि गदाई दर-ए-मय-कदा मरी तिश्नगी पे हराम है
jo usi ka nam hai zindagi mera zindagi ko salam hai
जो उसी का नाम है ज़िंदगी मिरा ज़िंदगी को सलाम है
wo nazar milain to subh hai wo nazar churai to sham hai
वो नज़र मिलाईं तो सुब्ह है वो नज़र चुराई तो शाम है
I have no quest for the tavern, no search for wine and goblet — it is that one glance, which poured life into my every breath, that I am after. For that single sin alone, neither the rose-red wine nor the cup is mine: for a thirst like mine, begging at the tavern door is forbidden. She shows me neither kindness nor displeasure; I own neither a dawn nor a dusk of my own — yet because her name itself is my life, I salute that life. Now light, now darkness — such is the whole order of living: when she meets my eyes it is morning, when she looks away, evening.
A ghazal of pure Sufi register: the only intoxication worth seeking is a glance, and a real thirst is too proud to beg even at the tavern door. The radif 'hai' rings like a verdict at the end of every line.
tujhe chashm-e-shauq ka wasta
meri har nazar mein hai tishnagi teri har nigah mein jam hai
मिरी हर नज़र में है तिश्नगी तिरी हर निगाह में जाम है
zara muskura ke naqab utha ki nazar ko shauq-e-salam hai
ज़रा मुस्कुरा के नक़ाब उठा कि नज़र को शौक़-ए-सलाम है
jo tadap ke dil hi mein rah gaya wahi dard dil ka payam hai
जो तड़प के दिल ही में रह गया वही दर्द दिल का पयाम है
ye bahaar us ka hai pairahan ye nasim us ka khiram hai
ये बहार उस का है पैरहन ये नसीम उस का ख़िराम है
aur ab ek zamana guzar gaya na salam hai na payam hai
और अब इक ज़माना गुज़र गया न सलाम है न पयाम है
mujhe ye ghurur ki aaj bhi mere lab pe tera hi nam hai
मुझे ये ग़ुरूर कि आज भी मिरे लब पे तेरा ही नाम है
For the sake of these longing eyes, O cupbearer, turn this way just once — there is thirst in my every glance, and a brimming goblet in your every look. What is this veiling of beauty's splendour — have mercy on my hunger to behold you; just smile a little and lift the veil, for my gaze longs to greet it. The cry the whole universe has heard is no ordinary cry; the pain that stayed locked in the heart — that alone is the heart's true message. Let someone see the splendours of life's garden through my eyes: this spring is her garment, this breeze the grace of her walking. Those stations of devotion and grace, the gatherings once adorned with love — a whole age has passed now, and there is neither greeting nor word. You take pride that with one glance you turned my heart to pain; I take pride that even today, your name alone is on my lips.
A longer ghazal in the same key as his famous one — the lover's wound worn as a kind of honour. The closing couplet is the whole poet in two lines: her pride in having hurt him, his pride in still carrying her name.
ye faza ye chandni raaten
mastiyon mein gharq ho jaane ka mausam aa gaya
मस्तियों में ग़र्क़ हो जाने का मौसम आ गया
ham-nashin shayad bahaar aane ka mausam aa gaya
हम-नशीं शायद बहार आने का मौसम आ गया
hasraton ke raqs farmane ka mausam aa gaya
हसरतों के रक़्स फ़रमाने का मौसम आ गया
chupke chupke ashk barsane ka mausam aa gaya
चुपके चुपके अश्क बरसाने का मौसम आ गया
har gham-e-duniya ko thukrane ka mausam aa gaya
हर ग़म-ए-दुनिया को ठुकराने का मौसम आ गया
aalam-e-imkan pe chha jaane ka mausam aa gaya
आ'लम-ए-इम्काँ पे छा जाने का मौसम आ गया
These airs, these moonlit nights, this round of cup and wine — the season has come to drown in ecstasies. The heart's wild restlessness is gathering to a single centre — companion, perhaps the season of spring has arrived. Someone is smiling in secret, hidden behind the heart — the season has come for longings to dance. Slowly the old events of grief begin to return — quietly, the season has come to rain down tears. The wine-house of joy has begun to stir and stretch within the heart — the season has come to spurn every sorrow of the world. Of its own accord, Iqbal, the fervour of self-abandon swells — the season has come to spread across the whole realm of the possible.
His maqta — the signature couplet — names him outright: 'badh raha hai khud-bakhud Iqbal…'. This is the very thing that misleads readers: his own pen-name, 'Iqbal', sitting inside his verse exactly as a master's would. The same word, two different poets.
More of his verse, including ghazals not reproduced here, is archived at Iqbal Safipuri on Sufinama →
Browse every poet on the Other Voices shelf → The heart of this site stays with Iqbal: explore his couplets →