Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 5

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive 
Articulation answer'd, once did live, 
And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd, 
How many Kisses might it take--and give!

For I remember stopping by the way 
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: 
And with its all-obliterated Tongue 
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

And has not such a Story from of Old 
Down Man's successive generations roll'd 
Of such a clod of saturated Earth 
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

And not a drop that from our Cups we throw 
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below 
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye 
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

As then the Tulip for her morning sup 
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up, 
Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n 
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.

Perplext no more with Human or Divine, 
To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, 
And lose your fingers in the tresses of 
The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press 
End in what All begins and ends in--Yes; 
Think then you are To-day what Yesterday 
You were--To-morrow You shall not be less.

So when that Angel of the darker Drink 
At last shall find you by the river-brink, 
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul 
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, 
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, 
Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him 
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?

'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest 
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest; 
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash 
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

And fear not lest Existence closing your 
Account, and mine, should know the like no more; 
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd 
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

When You and I behind the Veil are past, 
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, 
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds 
As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste 
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste-- 
And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has reach'd 
The Nothing it set out from--Oh, make haste!

Would you that spangle of Existence spend 
About the Secret--Quick about it, Friend! 
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True-- 
And upon what, prithee, may life depend? 

Omar Khayyam's Born: 18 May 1048 in Nishapur, Persia (now Iran)
Died: 4 Dec 1131 in Nishapur, Persia (now Iran)

His full name was Ghiyath al-Din Abu'l-Fath Umar ibn Ibrahim Al-Nisaburi al-Khayyami  means 'tent maker' played on the meaning of his own name when he wrote:-

Khayyam, who stitched the tents of science,
Has fallen in grief's furnace and been suddenly burned,
The shears of Fate have cut the tent ropes of his life,
And the broker of Hope has sold him for nothing!

Omar Khayyam was an Islamic scholar who was a poet as well as a mathematician. He compiled astronomical tables and contributed to calendar reform and discovered a geometrical method of solving cubic equations by intersecting a parabola with a circle.

Syafuan Gani

Doha, Qatar