More Secret Rubaiyat ...

***

Ah, with the Grape, my fading Life provide,
And wash my body whence the Life has died,
And in a Winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

Ah, with the Grape, anoint me when I die,
And when you see me next, as born to cry,
As babe at font, again, then bless me so,
As one who loved and loves again, as I!

Ah, with the Grape, I lived, thus Heaven blessed;
All fruits of Paradise, I had possessed - 
But this sweet orb, the best, gave second sight;
Telling Heavenly tales, whenever pressed.

Ah, with the Grape, I sing and so rejoice;  
Or so I deem, I really have no choice,
Though death be deaf to music and to song,
Deep in my cups, I sing with Angel's voice.

Ah, with the Grape, enwrap me in its vine;
My body be as earth, and ground so fine,
With flesh and bone a feast for ev'ry leaf;
And may my blood flow forth, as blessed wine.

***

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.

That ev'n my many years be not in vain,
For I am of the rose, the earth, the rain,
And all qualities my years have garnered,
These I will extol, again and again!

That ev'n my many joyous tears I've shed, 
Have watered the steps where my heart once led;
And may feet follow; all those who would laugh;
Let them play and plash, till hearts are all bled.

That ev'n my voice that once bellowed so loud
With song and with sighs of my love so proud,
With the fullness of life, of flesh and blood,
In my poems, be heard, beyond death's shroud.

That ev'n my mind that hast wrought and has writ
Symbols to signify sounds that most fit;
Oh Let these be cast, to last and be read,
By men who may share the spirit and wit.

***

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long,
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drowned my Honour in a shallow cup,
And sold my reputation for a Song.

Indeed the mad dance, to some, I have made,
Has been but a nonsense; made some dismayed,
That I have but squandered, my wit like wine;
As butt or the head of a fool's parade.

Indeed the wine of my wit had grown sour,
Yea, even to me, when Death had his hour,
And came to relieve me from bottle and bread;
No longer needing to wither and cower.

Indeed the door through which I then passed,
Was the door I went through, I thought my last,
But was just a door, from this side to that,
Just a door from the small, into the vast!

Indeed the vaults of vast Heaven were such,
That only my mind, my spirit could touch;
But for a mere moment; briefly caress,
An Angel, and then, a Mother I clutch!

***

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore - but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand,
My thread-bare Penitence apiece I tore.

Indeed, indeed, this long, circle of life;
A spiral of lives, of husband and wife;
Of son, daughter and lover or hater - 
'Twas only my wine, seemed to dull such strife.

Indeed, indeed, I, regretful of this,
Have sworn not to drink, but have been remiss,
For the labours of lust turn grey and so fade,
Even as I, try so hard, not to kiss.

Indeed, indeed, what a waste is regret,
The die it is cast, the distance is set,
Play or be played, you must laugh as you die,
The body thus fades, but you, never yet!

Indeed, indeed, each new life is a sun,
Rising to shine, as new day is begun;
Alas, the warmth of youth, lingers a while,
Then - women and wine - till day is well done!

***

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

And much as Wine has been my metaphor
For living life of love; I now implore - 
Drink up - Forget about, life after death,
And celebrate instead, your Life Before!

And much as Wine can fill misshapen cup;
Can any vessel bless and fill it up
With joy of life and warm the troubled heart;
The content is the key, so sip and sup.

And much as Wine is honest in its aim,
Unlike the airy promises that claim
Eternal paradise and bliss above;
Yet here I drink below, but taste the same.

And much as Wine concerns itself with such
Glad matters of the Heart and things we touch;
It is I know but means to warm the soul,
And not be used to blind or be a crutch!

***

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence and whither flown again, who knows!

Alas, that I, each season that I know,
Year after year, as tree of Man I grow;
A sapling then a sturdy oak - and then -
Nought but a rotten stump (if that), to show!

Alas, that Life as Life, must marry Death;
For such this puzzle proved for old Macbeth,
And Hamlet too -  To be? - each day we solve,
Until the day we breathe, our final breath.

Alas, that we of Man have made a thing
That when it plays a part, it calls, "acting",
'Tis deemed offensive if that part doth stray
From the accepted song a bird may sing.

Alas, that Seasons too, are thus contrived,
With Winters after Springs, Why So connived?
Why can we not the world construct as wished?
Because we wish to Share where we've Survived!

***

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!

Ah Love! Your Goodness is a gentle joy,
For by the sword of Tir, we can employ
The joy of love for good, as gentle rain,
Or by Tir's spear, bring thunder and annoy.

Ah Love! Our choices are so oft unseen,
Decided by what e'er the stars may mean;
These constellations glowing o'er our heads;
Is't by such glims, that we, our futures, glean?

Ah Love! I swear, even Rashnu must raise
Her jaded eyes, so pure, at such pale praise,
As you or I may give, to those Divine;
Can we assess what Golden Scale assays?

Ah Love! Goddess of Justice with her scales,
Cannot determine Truth or Lies by Tales,
We ductile Men may tell, but by the weight
Of deeds we do; our Hearts will be our jails!

***

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me - in vain!

Ah, Moon of time and tides that tugs and pulls
Our little boats of life through calms and squalls,
That we may fool ourselves we set our course
By constant star, - ah such - this Ship of Fools!

Ah, Moon of Mah, our Persian Planet Moon;
Sweet Goddess of the silver-skyed lagoon,
That floats above in silence so serene;
Within your pool I will be swimming soon.

Ah, Moon of my Desire wherein I wane
And wax and wane again - and yet again;
In cycle after cycle, as your slave - 
Oh Queen of night how can I break this chain?

Ah, Moon of Monstrous Might so bright and strong;
Night after night you shine and ne'er too long
Before your face is full; oh woe, that mine,
Will only wane and fade and join Death's throng!

***

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the spot
Where I made one - turn down an empty Glass!

And when Thyself hath likewise had your day,
And said farewell to Mitra and her ray,
And joined Ahura Mazda in his maze
Of Angels; then, oh, Rest in Peace, we pray.

And when Thyself with wisdom you have won,
Ascend the stairs that rise beyond the sun;
Beyond the realm of Mitra's light and love,
You will find there, your journey yet begun!

And when Thyself this Mortal Coil hath sprung,
And yet as Spirit soars where Song is Sung,
By Holy Choirs, there in Heaven's Halls;
Stay but a while, return, but to be Young!

And when Thyself thy Self, espies in waters
Of Goddess Anahita and her daughters,
REMEMBER THIS, The Spirit is not Flesh,
And nothing felt or thought this ever alters!

**

TAMAM SHUD*

**

*Thus It Ends