I am dedicating this to the HUMANITY and the Great Soldiers and Civilian died defending Pakistan sovereignty as an Islamic State, infact it is one of my top favorites ghazal and indeed the poet. Sir Dr. Muhammad Iqbal
Sir Dr. Muhammad Iqbal (علامہ محمد اقبال /
Allama Muḥammad Iqbāl; November 9, 1877 – April 21, 1938), commonly referred to as Allama Iqbāl (علامہ اقبال, ʿAllāma meaning “The Learned One”), was a Lahori Muslim poet, philosopher and politician in British India.
He wrote his works in Persian and Urdu. After studying in Cambridge, Munich and Heidelberg, Iqbal established a law practice, but concentrated primarily on writing scholarly works on politics, economics, history, philosophy and religion. He is best known for his poetic works, including Asrar-e-Khudi—for which he was knighted— Rumuz-e-Bekhudi, and the Bang-e-Dara, with its enduring patriotic song Tarana-e-Hind. In India, he is widely regarded for the patriotic song, Saare Jahan Se Achcha. In Afghanistan and Iran, where he is known as Eghbāl-e-Lāhoorī (اقبال لاہوری Iqbal of Lahore), he is highly regarded for his Persian works. Iqbal was a strong proponent of the political and spiritual revival of Islamic civilisation across the world, but specifically in South Asia; a series of famous lectures he delivered to this effect were published as The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam.
One of the most prominent leaders of the All India Muslim League, Iqbal encouraged the creation of a “state in northwestern India for Muslims” in his 1930 presidential address. Iqbal encouraged and worked closely with Muhammad Ali Jinnah, and he is known as Muffakir-e-Pakistan (“The Thinker of Pakistan”), Shair-e-Mashriq (“The Poet of the East”), and Hakeem-ul-Ummat (“The Sage of Ummah”).
He is officially recognized as the national poet of Pakistan. The anniversary of his birth (یوم ولادت محمد اقبال – Yōm-e Welādat-e Muḥammad Iqbāl) is on November 9, and is a national holiday in Pakistan.…
Niyaz draws even more connections between Turkey and Kurdistan, between Iran and India. The word niyaz means “yearning” in Kurmanci, the language of the Kurds, in Farsi, the language of Iran, and Urdu, a major language of northern India and Pakistan. Over the centuries, the cultures of Kurdistan and Persia and India have shared not only words, but musical and spiritual traditions and people. Azam Ali is one of them, born in Iran and raised in India; and two of the songs on Nine Heavens are by Amir Khosrau Dehlavi, a 13th-century Persian mystic and poet who was also raised in India.
From your Door of Benevolence, cast your generosity upon me
Don’t let me mix into the world of matters
Overlook my rebellion, show compassion
Take me, O Friend, to my goal – the ultimate destination
(Take) me me me me, O Beloved, (take) me me Take me, O Friend, to my goal – the ultimate destination
“Be!” You ordered, and You created every object You brought the existance to Your perfection You made the Ninth Heaven a throne, and placed Yourself there Then you reduced me, O Friend, down into the struggle of the world
(Take) me me me me, O Beloved, (take) me me You reduced me, O Friend, down into the struggle of the world
You gave unending pain after pain to Dertli* (poet’s nickname, meaning ‘The Painful’) You gave neither the patience, nor the effort Neither the reign to him, nor the state Why on earth, O Friend, have you brought me to this world
(Take) me me me me, O Beloved, (take) me me Countless thanks, O Friend, you made my way to a safe haven at last
(Take) me me me me, O Beloved, (take) me me Take me, O Friend, to my goal – the ultimate destination
Not like the kind in the above picture though, as that monkey is or, and or has some kind of fruit smeared all over its face. She would want a monkey like me.
Obviously having her own monkey would be fantastic for a whole host of reasons and as we are quite intelligent, yet unable to speak, we learn quickly through love, and care but not beatings while being learning.
Which one of you wish that your monkey should be fun like me….. :p
Disguised Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would borrow my mums sewing machine and make my monkey a little monkey suit. Then if anyone said “Thats not a real monkey, it’s just a monkey suit, I can see the zipper”, I could say “I bet you fifty dollars it is a real monkey” and when they said “that seems like a reasonable bet, you are on”, my monkey would take off the monkey suit and they would have to pay me fifty dollars. I would buy drugs with the fifty dollars. For the monkey. So he wouldn’t mind spending his life in a monkey suit.
Gambling Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach him to count cards like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rainman and sneak my monkey into the casino. If anyone said “Hey a monkey, who’s monkey is that?” I would say “It’s not my monkey”.
Singing Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach it to sing Kylie Minogue songs. Then if Kylie passed out on stage again I would be able to save the day by having my monkey finish the concert for her. The concert promotors would probably give me free tickets and promotional gifts. Kylie would be so thankful that she might send me an autographed photo and I could sell it on ebay for fifty dollars. I would buy drugs with the fifty dollars. Not for the monkey, for me.
Paddling Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach it how to use a paddle. The next time I went kayaking I would be able to relax and enjoy the scenery while my monkey navigated the river. Also, the last time I went kayaking I was listening to my ipod and I fell asleep and got sunburnt and the current took me way up the river before I awoke when the kayak hit a tree branch and I had to paddle all the way back. Having a paddling monkey would prevent this ever happening again so really it is a water-safety issue and should be encouraged.
Channel Changing Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach it how to use all the entertainment equipment. I would save money on batteries for the remote controls by having my monkey change channels for me. With the money I saved on batteries I would buy drugs. I would share the drugs with the monkey while we watched Black Books and Stephen Chow movies together.
Hairdressing Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach him how to do my hair – using the appropriate amount of product. I would then set the alarm for him to get up half an hour before I do and do my hair while I am still asleep. This would either give me more time in the morning or allow me to spend more time sleeping. I would just waste the extra half hour anyway so probably better to sleep but as I usually don’t rock up to work till ten thirty or so, I could try leaving earlier. This would give me more time to write about what I would do if I had a monkey.
Surveilance Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would teach it to track down people who annoy me by using their profile photo and google maps. Using earpieces to communicate, I would have my monkey conceal himself behind the person typing on facesook® and when that person wrote something stupid I would have my monkey run up and slap them on the back of the head really hard then make a quick escape. Having several monkeys would be more convenient but I don’t have time to train seven monkeys, what with having to do my own hair in the mornings.
5 Fun Things to do with a Monkey
1. Constructing and flying box kites 2. eyetoy 3. Running down sand dunes 4. Playing Connect 4 5. Dressups
Web Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would name it Brendon. I would shave the monkey and buy a yellow shirt for it and teach it to write inane posts on the Australian wall. Occasionally I would burn the monkey with a cigarette lighter but not to cause enough damage to detract it from it’s primary goal; impersonating a retard.
Sex with Monkeys
If a woman had sex with a monkey, getting pregnant and giving birth, we would be able see what mans early ancestors really looked like and include actual photographs in scientific volumes dealing with Neanderthal man. Due to the mixing of species, it might not be possible to produce offspring or it might be more likely if a man had sex with a female monkey but this would be much less fun to watch. Due to father/mother percentage variations we would probably need about 50 women to do it to get an average. We could put the babies on an island with hidden cameras and see if they invent the wheel and discover fire. Call it Monkey Island and sell series rights. Another bonus would be enough actors to produce footage that would make the opening scenes from ‘2001 A Space Odyssey’ look like a primary school play. I would call mine Manky as it is a cross between man and monkey and I would teach him to love.
Ceramic Monkey
If I had a monkey, I would name it Thomas and use it for scientific research. I would then publish my findings in a journal titled “Monkey Vs Electricity”. With the proceeds from the sale of this publication, I would buy a potters wheel and kiln and produce my own range of contemporary, modern living, statues of monkeys. I could make a cast of my dead monkey and use it to produce to-scale ceramic monkeys. I would design a sticker stating that part proceeds go to Greenpeace but would keep all the money for myself. With the money, I would buy drugs and spend my days stoned, listening to music and turning pots.
The first time ever I saw your face I thought the sun rose in your eyes And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave To the dark and the empty skies, my love, To the dark and the empty skies.
The first time ever I kissed your mouth And felt your heart beat close to mine Like the trembling heart of a captive bird That was there at my command, my love That was there at my command.
And the first time ever I lay with you I felt your heart so close to mine And I knew our joy would fill the earth And last till the end of time my love It would last till the end of time my love
The first time ever I saw your face, your face, your face, your face
Do you believe in heaven in above Do you believe in love Don’t tell a lie Don’t be false or untrue It all comes back to you Open fire on my burning heart I’ve never been lucky in love My defenses are down A kiss or a frown I can’t survive on my own If a girl walks in And carves her name in my heart I’ll turn and run away Everyday we’ve all been lead astray It’s hard to be lucky in love
It gets in your eyes It’s making you cry Don’t know what to do Looking for love Calling heaven above Send me an angel Right now
Empty dreams can only disappoint In a room behind your smile But don’t give up Don’t give up You can be lucky in love
It gets in your eyes It’s making you cry Don’t know what to do Looking for love Calling heaven above Send me an angel Right now
Follow the Moskwa Down to Gorky Park Listening to the wind of change An August summer night Soldiers passing by Listening to the wind of change
The world is closing in Did you ever think That we could be so close, like brothers The future’s in the air Can feel it everywhere Blowing with the wind of change
Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow dream away In the wind of change
Walking down the street Distant memories Are buried in the past, forever I follow the Moskwa Down to Gorky Park Listening to the wind of change
Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow dream away In the wind of change
The wind of change Blows straight into the face of time Like a storm wind that will ring the freedom bell For peace of mind Let your balalaika sing What my guitar wants to say
Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment On a glory night Where the children of tomorrow dream away In the wind of change
He loved his brother and his sister Luke and Tony called him “Mister” They made him feel much more like a man He loved his daddy though he never told him And how he loved his mama He loved, he loved her like, like an Italian
Little Janet said you look so fine, so fine Something in his smile Made them feel like strangers And then he straightened his belt With a lover’s touch And he said I’m gonna bring home The things that are out of your clutch
Seemed like the hottest night in summer A heat that makes you feel like dying Somewhere in the next block There was a baby crying Finger on the trigger for the years to come
Finger on the trigger for the years to come
And as the moon slid up Over the restless streets Sirens mocking and people stop to see Oh, their greedy eyes don’t realize He’s someone’s son Finger on the trigger for the years to come
Mother, o mother, My songs are like eyes That sting with the grains of separation. In the middle of the night , They wake and weep for dead friends. Mother, I cannot sleep.
Upon them I lay strips of moonlight Soaked in perfume, But the pain does not recede. I foment them With warm sighs, Yet they turn on me ferociously.
I am still young, And need guidance myself. Who can advise him? Mother, would you tell him, To clench his lips when he weeps, Or the world will hear him cry.
Tell him, mother, to swallow the bread Of separation. He is fated to mourn. Tell him to lick the salty dew On the roses of sorrow, And stay strong.
Who are the snake handlers From whom I can get another skin? Give me a cover for myself. How can I wait like a jogi At the doorstep of these people Greedy for gold?
Listen, o my pain,
Love is that butterfly Which is pinned forever to a stake. Love is that bee, From whom desire, Stays miles away.
Love is that palace Where nothing lives Except for the birds. Love is that hearth Where the colored bed of fulfillment, Is never laid.
Mother, tell him not to Call out the name of his dead friends So loudly in the middle of the night. When I am gone, I fear That this malicious world, Will say that my songs were evil.
Mother, o mother
My songs are like eyes That sting with the grains of separation. In the middle of the night , They wake and weep for dead friends. Mother, I cannot sleep
To make him see some sense. “Listen to us, Bulla”, they said.
Leave the hands (company) of wanderers and wayfarers.
You’re from the proud clan of Nabis (Prophets), Why then are you tarnishing it’s name? Those who call us beautiful and worthy, Often have dirty motives behind their smiles.
Hey Bulla, Hey you!
Here and there, everywhere,
Even God makes some mistakes. You discarded those who were your own. And have embraced outsiders.
If it is only gardens and flowers that you seek, Go become a slave to wanderers and wayfarers
Hey Bulla, Hey you!! Nobody will ask which race or clan you’re from, Go become a slave to your desires!
Face the world
With A smile No one knows What it hid inside They see all the happiness They can’t see, the tears I’ve, cried
Creation is the product of synchronizing our energy with the universe. Once we experience the whole and recognize it, we become aware that we are nothing but the Divine Creative Force.
♥ The Tale Of My Heart ♥ 
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