nasib bigda to gunge burai karne lage
bane the mandir-o-masjid ibadaton ke liye
yahan to shaikh-o-birhaman khudai karne lage
ab apne zakhm ki parwah hamin ko karna hai
suna hai zahr ke tajir dawai karne lage
hamare qad ke barabar na aa sake to log
hamare paon ke niche khudai karne lage
“Tongues began to wag, lips began to open wide — when fortune turned, even the mute took up slander. Temple and mosque were built for worship; here the priest and the brahmin have set themselves up as gods. Now I alone must tend my own wound — I hear the dealers in poison have gone into the trade of medicine. When people could not rise to my stature, they began to dig away the earth beneath my feet.”
नसीब बिगड़ा तो गूँगे बुराई करने लगे
बने थे मंदिर-ओ-मस्जिद इबादतों के लिए
यहाँ तो शेख़-ओ-बिरहमन ख़ुदाई करने लगे
अब अपने ज़ख़्म की परवाह हमीं को करना है
सुना है ज़हर के ताजिर दवाई करने लगे
हमारे क़द के बराबर न आ सके तो लोग
हमारे पाँव के नीचे ख़ुदाई करने लगे
The verse in Devanagari — it carries the authenticity of the original, and every Hindi reader can read it.
Four sharp social couplets, each on a single hypocrisy: courage that arrives only with someone's downfall; clergy who turned houses of worship into thrones for themselves; healers who profit from the harm they sell; and the small cruelty of those who undermine what they cannot equal.
Two lines to keep. When you cannot be matched, expect the ground to be dug rather than the height to be climbed — that is information about them, not about you. And tend your own wound: the poison-sellers are not your physicians.
The heart of this site stays with Iqbal: explore his couplets → Or browse the whole Other Voices shelf →