Saare Jahan se Achcha

Saare Jahan se Achcha is a poem. It was re-written in 1931. It became a symbol of resistance to the English rule of British-occupied India. The poem exists in different versions. Saare Jahan Se Achchha () is one of the enduring patriotic poems of the Urdu language. Written originally for children in the ghazal style of Urdu poetry by poet Muhammad Iqbal, the poem was published in the weekly journal Ittehad on 14 August 1931. Recited by Iqbal the following year at Government College, Lahore, now in Pakistan, it quickly became an anthem of opposition to the British rule in India. 

Urdu text

Roman Transliteration

sāre jahāñ se achchā hindustan  hamārā
ham bulbuleñ haiñ us kī vuh gulsitāñ hamārā

ġhurbat meñ hoñ agar ham, rahtā hai dil vat̤an meñ
samjho vuhīñ hameñ bhī dil ho jahāñ hamārā

parbat vuh sab se ūñchā, hamsāyah āsmāñ kā
vuh santarī hamārā, vuh pāsbāñ hamārā

godī meñ kheltī haiñ jis kī hazāroñ nadiyāñ
gulshan hai jin ke dam se rashk-e janāñ hamārā

ay āb-rūd-e Ganga! vuh din haiñ yād tujh ko?
utarā tire kināre jab kāravāñ hamārā

mażhab nahīñ sikhātā āpas meñ bair rakhnā
Hindi haiñ ham, vat̤an hai hindustāñ hamārā

yūnān-o-miṣr-o-rumā sab miṭ gaʾe jahāñ se
ab tak magar hai bāqī nām-o-nishāñ hamārā

kuchh bāt hai kih hastī miṭtī nahīñ hamārī
sadiyoñ rahā hai dushman daur-e zamāñ hamārā

iqbāl! koʾī maḥram apnā nahīñ jahāñ meñ
maʿlūm kyā kisī ko dard-e nihāñ hamārā!

Translation

Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan,
We are its nightingales, and it (is) our garden abode

If we are in an alien place, the heart remains in the homeland,
Know us to be only there where our heart is.

That tallest mountain, that shade-sharer of the sky,
(It) is our sentry, (it) is our watchman

In its lap frolic those thousands of rivers,
Whose vitality makes our garden the envy of Paradise.

O the flowing waters of the Ganges, do you remember that day
When our caravan first disembarked on your waterfront?

Religion does not teach us to bear ill-will among ourselves
We are of Hind, our homeland is Hindustan.

In a world in which ancient Yunan, Misr, and Roma have all vanished without trace
Our own attributes (name and sign) live on today.

Such is our existence that it cannot be erased 
Even though, for centuries, the cycle of time has been our enemy.

Iqbal! We have no confidant in this world
What does any one know of our hidden pain?

Category:Indian poems
Category:1930s in India
Category:1931 works
Category:1904 works
Category:20th-century poems