The Mosque of Cordoba (Masjid-e-Qurtaba)
Oh Qurtaba! Beneath the stars, your ground a celestial dome, For centuries, awaiting the call to prayer, a sacred home.
Where is the love’s army to bring Islam back, fierce and bold, In which stations, in which inns, has its story been told?
Germany witnessed religious reform, a revolution’s blaze, Sweeping away old eras, as history found a new phase.
The innocence of the Christian pope, his claim refuted clear, A delicate ship of ideas set sail, beyond doubt or fear.
France too beheld that monumental change, reshaping its view, Turning the face of Europe, to a world anew.
Italy, evolving, casting off antiquated thought, Revitalized by innovation’s taste, from old ways they sought.
Today, waves of revolution ripple in the Muslim soul, A secret of Allah, beyond language’s control.
Let’s see what emerges from the sea’s depths, in stormy fray, Will it change the sky’s hue, in its turbulent display?
Clouds on mountain slopes, drowned by the group’s cunning, The sun lays down flames, red as Bedahşan rubies, stunning.
The peasant girl’s song, simple yet profound, Youth, like a flood, for the heart’s ship, unbound.
Oh Kebir River, flowing by Qurtaba’s side, A man, Ikbal, dreams of another era, in your tranquil tide.
The future, shrouded in destiny’s veil, yet to be seen, Its dawn unveils before my eyes, in hopes serene.
If I lift the veil from my thoughts, what visions shall appear, Europe could not bear my prophecies, indeed.
Life without revolution, mere existence, not true breath, Nations thrive on struggle, in revolution’s dance of death.
A nation mastering self-control, stands tall, survives the test, For fate and destiny, like a sharp sword, in hand, they rest.
Every work incomplete, without the blood of heart’s deep, Poetry too, devoid of love’s essence, in silence, it would sleep.