Favourites from The Rubaiyat

Some of my favourites from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, the eternal fountain to which I seem to gravitate towards whenever I tend to reflect on life and living. These are from Fitzgerald's transliterations, which, despite criticism from some of the purists, are remarkable in the way they have scaled the twin peaks of beauty and meaning..

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
 The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
 "You know how little while we have to stay,
 "And, once departed, may return no more."

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
 The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
 The Bird of Time has but a little way
 To fly--and lo! the Bird is on the Wing


Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
 TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
 To-morrow! Why, To-morrow I may be
 Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.


Some for the Glories of This World; and some
 Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
 Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
 Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!


Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
 And those that after some TO-MORROW stare,
 A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries,"
 Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"


After a momentary silence spake 
 Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
 "They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
 "What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"


"Well," murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
 "My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
 "But fill me with the old familiar Juice,
 "Methinks I might recover by and by."


And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
 And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well,
 I wonder often what the Vintners buy
 One half so precious as the stuff they sell.


Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
 Before we too into the Dust descend;
 Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
 Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!


Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
 To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, 
 Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
 Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

A solitary sunbeam

Tracing a solitary sunbeam,
Stargazing the dimlit expanse - suspiciously serene;
Lost all, and yet none, in a moment, in eternity;
On a chequered canvas, what crosses & noughts mean?

The ebbed residue

A prisoner, a mendicant-
What deem, or redeem?
Of visions or none,
What see or seem?


A life strung with dewdrops,
What shells are washed ashore?
Through Here to the Finale-
What's less, what's more?


A toast to the merchant's love,
Alike to the innkeeper's gain;
Of tides that usher some joy,
And the ebbed residue of pain.

A tale told by a joker (devoid of sound and fury)

Accumulate not the woes,
O' oceanic eyes;
Nor the tiniest bejewelled drop,
From your reservoir, let slide.

For you're Hope, you're Dream,
To my dreary eyes, you're Gleam;
As raconteur, in your playful banter-
Life's brightest hue, my cherished theme.

Glow! Illuminate the night sky- my pole star,
With yesterdays and tomorrows, all afar;
An immortal speck on the Time's wall - deem,
The quixotic pair, a joker and his queen.

What Lines foretell

Of barren breaths and worn-out wares,

A tumultuous journey, a comedy of errors;

Through hearts of darkness, or a child’s glee,

A change of clothes, and I shall just be.

To a lonely grave, or a lasting embrace?

Two sides of a coin, a sigh or solace?

The unquenched spirit- near elixir, yet always afar;

Tiptoes hope and despair, through life’s door ajar..

In the court of Fate, a plea for succor,

To assuage the ache, for soul recover?

A kindred spirit, a warm abode to dwell?

An unheard prayer, the Lines foretell..

The Balance Sheet of my Life

A snapshot in time, 
This balance sheet of my life-
What assets, what liabilities? 
The Moving Finger presides;
Mere intangibles, to erect the sandcastles of hope?
And an inventory of defunct dreams? 
A cruel surmise.

An elegy of desire

Such is the power of motion/flow - May be a fissure in a volcanic crater, or a stone thrown in a placid lake, whence the ripples travel far and wide- unwittingly, involuntarily. And the unstable equilibrium is once again rendered unstable... Here below...

Desire not, tender heart,

Ye, of baser earth make;

A furtive wish or a forlorn sigh,

Never does a powerful prayer make.

Play not with fire, that threatens to consume,

Recoil! Retreat! Dare not presume;

The remains of the day - a bleak, grey horizon,

Metamorphing into darkness, the spiralling gloom.

Don again that mask, and muffle your cry,

This parched firmament - look not to the sky;

Hope may be a country, but you dear, an outcast-

Extinguish the candle burning, the fire within - let die.