Brodie's anagram of Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat

Phrase Reflection, Word Plays, etc. in the Rubaiyat

Reflected Phrase Pairs
Self Reflexive Phrases
Double meanings

FitzGerald

Brodie

AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

Apollo hefts that Gauntlet high to throw --
That Artemis affronting Gesture's Sight
Thrusts out anon her Tent of Black, and Oh!
The Sun effulgent shines on, Halo White!

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

In silent Morn, the Lawn still wet with Dew,
The friendly Owner of the Pub said: "Drink!
Ah, come! A lusty Bacchic Vial quaff,
Ere ye despair, and in the Grave ye sink."

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."

Oh Rooster! when it crowed we Men who drink
Turned to the Pub: "Oh welcome! No Delay!
Old Throats crave Oceans of Nepenthe sweet -
A Vodka on the House? thy Treat today!"

Now the New Year reviving old Desires.
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Oh how Youth do perpetuate Life's Germ
If Winter's ghoulish Loneliness adjourns;
The Future? those hued Trees do show us It!
O God's green Thumb the View so verdant turns.

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.

That Sultan's Star, now in, it vanishes!
Oh, to his Kingdom we will bid "Good-bye!"
But ne'er shall "Wet Springs" Ranch Land ended be;
Nay! Wine's red, merry Juice shall never die!

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine.

With heavenly Voice, O Noise inspired, we chant
"This Red Ale! Drink it up!", elated singing.
Ah, Finch, to a white Violet chirp "Pink!"
O see it redden! -- warble then, while winging.

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.

I'd beg a Sip, if it be April Grape,
Romancing Life before its Thrill doth melt.
Youth in the Wind can flutter off, O then
No new Enchantment with dry Age's felt.

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

If People one safe happy Zenith know,
Or trapped by Hell with Woe in Terror be;
Ah, the bubbly River of our fleeting Weeks
Doth flow unceasing there into the Sea.

Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.

This Dawn Sky's heating Rays rejuvenate
Those Herbs of May; but Oh, I am dismayed
At last Year's shrunken Buds - the transient Dross.
Oh mark how Mortals' bygone Glories fade.

But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot!
Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes,
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.

Ah, amble by me, busy Fuss forsake;
Avoid all Company with Duke or Sheikh.
Attack to kill, delight to maim? Oh Truce!
Don't hurt. Or eye the Treat?--do not partake!

With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the Desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot --
And pity Máhmúd on his golden Throne!

The Dream! out under hanging Palms a-bloom,
With she who jests and savors this short Life --
Envied of Men of Power, Glory-men,
Hunted with Danger that attends to Strife.

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

A Poem, and Trees a-blowing in a Wind.
A Brew I'll drink -- base Needs of other Stuff
Ignore. Ah see here how we do behave;
Indeed for us a Song is just enough.

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

Doth Man chase Comforts, Gold, and high Regard?
Or seeks he out Priest, Minister, the Pope?
Ah Lord, I'd taste the best of Human Life;
O let me shed a far Tomorrow's Hope.

Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win --
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

If we're intent to Hope for heavenly Bliss,
Oh, Profit in the Earth away we throw --
Better we briefly taste Love's Pleasure, for
What Hour we'll sink in Death we do not know!

Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

A Title Hope in Earth, oh Ego? No!
Lo, Nature's short Blooms show us What? We learn
To say "Good-bye."--all Assets in the World,
Like Nature's Gifts, back to the Dust return.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes -- or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two -- is gone.

The Riches People think will last so long
Go sour -- or persist and Worth retain;
See Dew upon the Grass out in the Sun --
So Fortune spent doth hardly yet remain.

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

Lo, when a Niggard audits Banks, and when
An anguished Teen at Sin a Fortune throws,
Ah Both, I'd augur, rate an untouched Death:
Like Dung, to Ore will Neither decompose.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

Oh in our weary Habitation, Earth,
Eternal Windows framed by Dusk and Dawn,
A Pharaoh's Star view - watch it shatter, Heir,
Washed up, not long to stay in this Salon.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahrám, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

Majestic Shahs at grand Persepolis,
By proud Beast Herds attended at their Peak;
Mark what great Monarchs doze, all hushed by Death;
Ruined, in Hell, down in the Earth they sneak.

The Palace that to Heav'n his Pillars threw,
And Kings the Forehead on his Threshold drew--
I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."

Oh Castle high, on whose heraldic Door
Do these, the Royals of late honored Lines,
The Visage paint -- see that a Dove doth chirp,
A Cock doth crow, a Crow on Carrion dines.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

It seems, when in a shaded silent Park,
That every Blossom, every Chaplet's Bud,
Grows rather more attractive to Man's Eye
On Soil enriched here with famed Heroes' Blood.

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean --
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

Ah, kneel in high Respect when at the Springs;
Honor when viewing Flowers in the Dell;
Lo from one vanished fine Soul far below
This pretty, sightly Garden could upwell.

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.

My Friend, salute my happy Serum sweet
That Care aborts and Worry holds at Bay.
Give me TODAY! O Why? Life's over fast -
Fed to the Worms, our Flesh returns to Clay.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

Those I've adored that born to freedom's Hope,
Know not a Course but "Carpe Diem!", They've
Life's Bottle tasted fervently till All
Turn in to sleep, and now are in the Grave.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch -- for whom?

Ah with much Fondness we remember now
Those lovely Folks tucked far below, esteemed;
And then Tomorrow, Autumn, our Turn comes -
A Vacancy, eh? Time so short here has seemed!

Ah, make the most of what we may yet 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!

We'd best attempt to get Enchantment's Kiss,
As handed us in the due Season rife;
Why? O ye mute down under Dirt do go,
To end sans Sound, sans Wants, and so -- sans Life!

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!"

Oh Those that worry of that Time far off,
Or worry now and hoard for One that's near,
Do Errors sore make, and must Elsewhere look
To seize their secret Prize supreme, I fear.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

So, Wisdom of those worldly Thinker's Words,
Truths sacrosanct, propounded Thoughts, that fade
Like worthless Errors, that we trust, they wane;
False Scholarship to rest in Death is laid.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about; but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.

Mentored by Guru, and Rabbi devout,
Who many a Quandry fought, Men at debate.
Reason oft circularly seen, it seemed
That I was doomed to an e'er turning Gate.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own Hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd --
"I came like Water and like Wind I go."

Ah, Knowledge! Education's widen'd Base,
I vow'd to add while wandering mid Earth.
The Pity is I'm mortal, fed to Worms;
I think ahead: "All this! What was it worth?"

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

In Life will thy End be not unknown Deeds?
Will ye Ovation glowing want to win
When ye on Wings will flirt anon with Stars?
Oh I think ye will walk, to your Chagrin!

What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!

Oh to and fro with urgent Whim we trek;
Hike here and there in mad chaotic Rush.
O earn unhappy Torment in this Earth?
To end, with Wine our hectic Grind we hush.

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.

Ah, by the Theban Rampart strong I sought
To understand the tyrant Stars of Men;
Ah Fortune, Heaven-sent, thou art not free;
The Luck, then Doom, of Man evades our Ken.

There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.

I mark the Sheet that hindered Light and View:
O too, the Way whose Lock would not release.
Do we Men find Thee, Home of human Truth?
O if not, O then here the Search will cease.

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
"Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.

I'd Seek a Lord transcendent that all Things
Can plan -- He'd end intending Virtue bright?
"If all Men grovel badly in rude Sin,
Wilt Thou, kind-hearted, help?" He said, "I might!"

Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
Nor Heav'n, with those eternal Signs reveal'd
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

Our World hath loathed Reply; and Neptune's Froth
Hath grown bereft of Strength here, Master gone.
Oh covered Realm divine? No, fallen still!
Nor Vision had in Sunset, nor in Dawn.

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."

An Honor fell to me, for my true Friend
The Cup I took: Help, sound Advice distilled:
"I'll warn you errant People: Fate turns - Lo,
An Hurt? Oh revel there in Wine." I thrilled!

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

As with the talkative Container I
Did flirt, and to me wise Advice he gave,
I trust, my Man, he did his lewd Kicks get -
O is it darling silken Nymphs? Thou Knave!

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

The Master, real skill'd at working Dirt,
That Pile of Putty threw - a-yelling by,
It whimpered in an Accent crude: "Oh me!
Don't batter me that rough; pound softly, Guy."

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?

As in Accounts of how God models Dirt,
As Man He sketches, crafted out of Clay,
So can an Urn savant, Lord Mr. Mud,
Out of mute Sand his "Hello Brother" say.

Ah, fill the Cup :--what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

Imbibe! O worry not that Life's Hope drifts;
The Day gone by, the Future not yet here:
Do tenuous NOW remember. Not a Fad!
What's up-to-date, watch: it will disappear!

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.

Liquor beneath the Ground undo hot Pain!
Offer thy Honey as a Sea of Balm.
Soothe the deep Torment and wash off dark Woe,
A tortured Wretch in burning Grief to calm.

As then the Tulip for her wonted Sup
Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her Chalice up,
Do you, twin Offspring of the Soil, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.

Ah, see the purple Violet catch the Drops
Of Life reviving Nutrient divine!
Supply thy Soul, thou Progeny of Clay,
With Lakes of Ale, then, from that Fountain, Wine.

Do you, within your little Hour of Grace,
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
Before the Mother back into her Arms
Fold, and dissolve you in a last Embrace.

Ere you by Charon to a frigid Realm
Of Death are ferried by his Ark, thy Chance
Lose not to revel in Love's sumptuous Glow,
Warm Sensibility and Touch -- Romance!

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!

Lament the Saga of a human Fate,
The Months of Man's short, vain, and mortal Path
That to the desert Origin comes back:
We eye him all worm-eaten - do the Math!

Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's Tangle to itself resign,
And lose your Fingers in the Tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

To worry of Men's Pedigrees? Do not!
Or of their Righteousness, their Sins mundane.
I'll fete the Women in Seraglios,
Let's drown in lusty Rivers of Champagne.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain Pursuit
Of This and That Endeavor and Dispute;
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

If round you'd hurry and with Argument
The Venture that is Profit-bound obtain;
Potations festive rather we'd prefer
To banal transient Futures there - the Drain!

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my House;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

Oh, Logic's bossy Humours I've renounced;
From a chaste, modest, proud Vow off I break.
And wed that rare, young, radiant Dame, Red Wine -
Ah, in my Bosom her I've yearned to take.

For "IS" and "IS NOT" though with Rule and Line,
And "UP-AND-DOWN" by Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to fathom, I
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.

Did Reason's candent Sun illume a Law
Newtonian by apt Logicians' Thought?
Dew of the Vine one hundred fifty Proof -
O Oil in Hand, in HER Law I'd be taught.

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!

A noble God in "Beer Shed" Bar appears
As through a Passageway in Heaven's Vault.
He did decant: "Let's drink! Grant Health to thee!"
Alas, he egged me on - it's not my Fault!

The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

Get Gin and Ice; to Men in cultic, hot,
Fanatic Arguments bid thee farewell:
Enjoy that solvent Claret's Taste that will
That human Scourge, the sober State, dispel.

The mighty Mahmúd, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.

A Monarch fought: "Let die, a brutal Host!"
Whacking this Infidel that storms the Wall;
And thy sad Cross? by Christ it is removed;
Ah, thus Men's Dread does now the Vine forestall.

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted Tendril as Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?

Hiss at the Grape, God's Gift to us with which
We wash the wounded Heart? Let's not! Indeed,
We shed our Torments. Ah, her blissful Joy!
The curly Bine's a Weal - This be no Weed!

I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!

Should I a pungent fluid Thrill refuse?
A Cider? My! the Bottle seek to curb.
And vow, in Faith's Contentment drunk, to wait
For promised Juice from some Sublimer Herb.

If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,
Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise
Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand.

Herald that Gospel Joy ineffable;
Ah, think: "That sacred Rapture!", but remove
Hot hidden Passion - and Beer's Happiness?
Libation out! A Dew we don't approve.

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

Men fret: "Ah, seek the Gem of Truth above" -
See how: encumbered quite with glib Debate.
I have a Hunch all's Luck, or random Chance;
We thumb our Noses at the Whim of Fate!

For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

A Hub of War, chaotic human Flux!
His macho Pageant? Wounded Mob downcast
Who, God-abandoned, bow in Ruin see -
I view those ghostly Outlines orbing past.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in--Yes---
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be---Nothing--thou shalt not be less.

You'll learn this euphuistic Truth: that though
Thy shining Life doth fill the Body now,
An unseen Being plants it 'neath the Dust -
That Bane! don't seek, in Reason, why nor how.

So when the 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.

Oh, yonder Whisky Inn! you I have heard:
"This Brain-rot's good!", an Offer ne'er I'll spurn.
"Try killer Vodka, nifty, loathful Stuff."
Oh Throat be quick, his Flagons let's upturn.

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

Thou monotypic, thou scarce, brilliant Souls,
Unparalleled, rare, unknown Flakes of Snow;
Reflect on this Idea, O troublesome Truth:
Examples by the billions does God know!

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 much as Ocean of a Pebble-cast.

Oh Child, afraid, cry: "Oh the Hell!"-- and All
We get, Oh God, will be a Snub, a Pause.
With the mad Churning of the Human Race
Stones lobbed onto the Waves no Ripples cause.

Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About THE SECRET -- quick about it, Friend!
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True --
And upon what, prithee, does Life depend?

Quit seeking, vital Seconds drift away;
Faith? Death? put off Disputes, be thou exhorted.
An unseen Detail ended a Debate --
Then how is your Place here in Clay supported?

A Hair, they say, divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the Clue,
Could you but find it, to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;

If your Eyes could arrive at a Rouleau
That wraps the Truth, and Genuine deduce,
Ye may one Tittle see, the finest Thread's
Avoided Strand, Oh it shall be of use.

Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins
Running, Quicksilver-like eludes your Pains:
Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; and
They change and perish all--but He remains;

The Universe's Prime Cause who produces
All Creatures by the Forms and Phases taking;
He'll cruelly vanquish one, another helping -
In Kindness to him, great in Riches making.

A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.

Dim Inkling of Forever? - fathom Him?
Men retrocede, accurs'd, left hobbl'd, blind.
"Ha ha! Men's hopeless, e'er tormented Tears."
Thus, so detached, He oft toys with Mankind.

But if in vain, down on the stubborn Floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door,
You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then
To-morrow, when You shall be You no more.

One naive Prayer to God afar intone now?
Thou Hush above - mute, Zero, no Reply?
No! thou, My Faithful, Union anon be shown - how?
When to our World you bid your last Goodbye.

Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Have squared the Year to human Compass, eh?
If so, by striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday.

Equations Cubic do my hard Proofs solve;
But how may Man's poor Path make any Sense?
Oh by my "Hard Ordeal Theorem" try
Eradicating past and future Tense.

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--This Life flies:
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once is blown for ever dies.

Oh fear in Hades' Fires to die, or live
In Faith: "God's Throne still shines - All can arise!"
Fact: "When I cease to be there's Nothing left",
That wilted, spent Rose, Oh so faint, replies.

If I myself upon a looser Creed
Have loosely strung the Jewel of Good Deed,
Let this one Thing for my Atonement plead:
That One for Two I never did mis-read.

Oh Loving-God, Devout, Nice, or On-Time,
If on my String of Life ye sparsely see,
Oh jot down Hate-Deleted, Free, and True -
Those matter, and so He will plead for me.

Strange, is it not? that of the Myriads who
Before us pass'd the Door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

Adventurers who drift off to the Stars
Report not to this World, as is the Rule.
My Death? no Document suggests a View;
For that no Book is authored, there's no School.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.

Arise! put low that Creed that's all absurd,
Born of profound, enshrined Philosophers.
Flee Errors flawed we've known and loved, but loathe
To see to these Reality demurs.

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him
So long in this Clay Suburb to abide?

His sinful Body Man lays down, as Ache
And Anguish he divorces in the Earth.
A Human? let us see, if infinite,
Too bad it takes so long to Death from Birth!

'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 Ferrásh
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

The potent Satrap's Status? Fortunate?
Hiers' Habitat, the flurried Legend's Khan?
If these, Tartarean Disasters shake,
Destroyed Dreams stoke another Ruler's Dawn.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some Letter of that After-life to spell:
And after many days my Soul return'd
And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."

To find my End, Men, Glory Site or Hell,
I did fly up near unto Heaven's Vault:
The Master says Damnation's best for me;
He adds: "The Blame for Hell is all thy Fault!"

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.

Faith's Vista there: Love's golden Paradise;
Hot Hades' horrid Oven of a Cell -
Illusions both, harsh Demons exorcise,
Man's fire of Woe snuff out - well, sound the Knell!

Oh Thou who burn'st in Heart for those who burn
In Hell, whose Fires thyself shall feed in turn;
How long be crying, "Mercy on them, God!"
Why, who art Thou to teach, and He to learn?

"How can you God?", dost Thou now trembling howl
For th'naughty Wretches thrown in Hades Heat;
"Oh why not free?" Inferno horrible!
But Flames He'll churn there, On His holy Seat.

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

Life's basic Facts this Chess Match parallel:
Some merely Pawns, yet others Kingly; yea,
Both transient indeed, yes, and anon
Both vanquished or dethroned and hid away.

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;
And he that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all -- He knows -- HE knows!

Our Life equates to Basketball - we, trying
For Swooshes, how we hope to sink that Shot!
O bonny elegant Slam Dunk? not Life!
Then die, Death's Darkness hides Thee - Thanks a lot!

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

No Mark when put into that Log of Life,
Will vary, it's inviolate -- is unchanged!
A Cry shall not revise thy total Worth,
Nor on a Whim will Facts be rearranged.

For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not -- each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.

The skeptic Thinker hear? He and the Pope,
Can in hoar Canon wallow all they will;
Oh Power of Brain, no Trance, no fancy Robe,
No Chant at Truth arrives - Lo, hidden still!

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy Hands to it for help -- for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

That Canopy of Sun with Planet Worlds,
'Neath which I've groveled wretchedly, no End --
Athirst for Liberality from it? No,
Like us, no Pow'r allotted it to lend.

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

Life's Terror wand'ring down that Road ahead,
Those nasty Sins, and all thy secret Acts --
In that first Week when Thee He made of Dirt,
That mighty Lord of Heaven knew all those Facts.

Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

When you are lucky, or when mighty sick,
If wondrous happy, knocked-down, or annoyed,
Pour Wine! for Martyrdom or Horror worse
Awaits; penned in this System you're destroyed!

I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
Over the Shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtara they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

He, God who notes all Truths of human Life,
Of People's Strengths or Failings, in that Gate,
Didst planetary Favors throw divine -
He'll under them unfold my human Fate.

The Vine had struck a Fibre: which about
If clings my Being--let the Dervish flout;
Of my base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

At Heaven's Gate the brutish Devil froths;
But if I, humble, choose to come, to knock,
He's fled! My Flesh will mutate - Oh, refined,
I'll by and by that auric Highway walk.

And this I know: whether the one True Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath -- consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright

I'll opt to seek Truth - it might anger me,
Or in her hot Enchantment I'll be taught.
O gather Truth? we've looked for it in the Cup,
And whilst within the Mosque we've seen it not.

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the Yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under Pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

So! tease and offer Men the keen Enticing
To seek for Love, yet punishing, suppress?
O this, it looks to be one utter wanting,
Cold Formula to reave our Happiness!

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd --
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry Trade!

Proffered an hundred hard Laws on a Stone,
Our Prospects be all dashed lest we obey.
Converse Deal: with Hurt and Terror that
For us is Crime, the Lord can get away!

Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the Place.

If Fools put on a Frown will we confuse
Good Acts for evil? Wroth I will confute
And chase a rude Crook from the Club away;
Plain Liar, Jerk, retract, or get the Boot!

Oh Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

In twisted Path we wind when in the World;
Oh hidden Traps malign we try to vault.
Oh do behold, if in loath Mud Men slip,
Is't to the Wine due? or is it Man's Fault?

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give -- and take!

When Heaven did feed a wicked Satan's Glee
Must I that Hearth in Hades seek to fan?
No, from the wretched Shame of evil Works,
With Kindness fair I absolve both God and Man.

KUZA-NAMA (The loquacious pots)

Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.

And in the eerie uptown Ceramic Store
The one that sports the Logo "Noble Pot",
Sonorous Vases, rational there ye'll find.
O what an amazing, opinionated Lot!

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

Bowls of all Types, both Vassals and true Lords,
Slender and fat, some short and others tall;
Pots valued as a neat Thing when all glazed;
Some quiet, and Some spoke, as I recall.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried --
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

Detect two Types here at Container Mart:
One dull appeared (no Tongue), and one Pot, smart,
Commenting loudly saith: "Hello Dirt! Lo,
Who is the Artist, eh, and who the Art?"

Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

"Oh Men, about that able, last unending,
Unknown Creator", says that Count of Clay,
"Might He perhaps Tomorrow maim, beat, hammer
These Human Victims, the Sons he owns Today?"

Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"

"Dire Rampage? Heav'n annoyed? Allay that Fear!
Who tenderly," now spake the Duke of Dirt,
"New Vases fashioned, shall His Hobby be
Reject in Violence? Why harm or hurt?"

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry."
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?

Heed the shy Urn that, leaning awkward there,
Laments: "O No! Why me? for Heaven's sake!
Of any and all Hope bereft?" -- It seems
A gentle Artist finer Pains could take.

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be Well."

"Oh weep, in the sweet Lord who dwells on High!"
The Marchioness of Mud laments; she spake:
"Why, shall He total, fatal Terror loose?
I'll get in Hell's Ordeal?" We will not bake!

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

"And in thy Loving, Sir, go bring a Keg
Of Brew", hints the old Earl, that Urn all soiled,
"Which can me of my dying Limbo witch --
I may just thrive when by it I am oiled."

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!"
Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

100

The Jars, those earthen Kegs, conversed a while;
One looked into the Sky, the new Orb spotting,
All cheered "Ah, see the Carrier's back-hung Yoke -
He'll People greet, the Inn's Brew Orders trotting."

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

101

Bathe me with Wine when auld, if I am going
Off to my Final Rest, ere I've descended;
Prepared by His hands, Ivy Garlands sewing;
Ah, my Wish: by a Weed of Hope attended!

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.

102

Anon a Scent of Gin vents by my Grave;
Ah, let a Brewer's fun Smell here arise --
Up! Up! Ah, sent above a lush Turf Bed;
Ah, I inhale it - talk about Surprise!

Whither resorting from the vernal Heat
Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,
Under the Branch that leans above the Wall
To shed his Blossom over head and feet.

103

Ah, floral Tavern where that unloved Man
His Thirst for Coolness doth abate and quench;
Ah, mellow Grove, at ease let's be reclining;
Care halt, on that dear quiet shaded Bench.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much Wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.

104

Oh Hedonism Peril ponder now:
Loud, vulgar Gods I'd not avoid, and hence
My darn old fool Ways my Esteem have harmed.
Unworthy Anguish! I've lost Innocence.

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 apieces tore.

105

We, burdened by a Weight of Care despair,
A Soberness intend, no more to trip;
Then feindish Independence stirs, and we
Are beaten, we cheat and reach: "One more Nip!"

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

106

Fools do far too much Ale imbibe, and land
In deathly Sewers -- Ah me! Hell is dry!
Persons who host the Garden Vine, how can
Ye hope to find new, nobler Stuff to buy?

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!

107

How wrong! when Instinct's Hand a Man at Birth
Clothes with hot, pure, and wistful Passion high,
Then Age wreaks all that windy Havoc's Change.
Ah, the stern, senseless Thought: the Soul can die!

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled Herbage of the Field!

108

Mine Eyes by glare from Gold's Allure go blind,
If in the Earth I fame-distracted grope.
When might I find thy Tent, divine deep Well
Of splendid Truth that give's us heart-felt Hope?

Would but some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!

109

Regret Allottee Quota meliorate?
Could God be liberal where we err, and thus
See not? Oh Lord, seek Torment to negate -
Rewrite! A different Destiny for us!

Better, oh better, cancel from the Scroll
Of Universe one luckless Human Soul,
Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls
Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages roll.

110

Off loveless Persons, bold, brash, loud, corrupt,
That go and turn the Earth into a Hell
Where echo other fallen Beings' Screams -
A rather tremulous, lost, choking Yell.

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!

111

Stern Destiny we'll see -- invite the Muse
To stop these unfair Whims, that tragic Plan!
We'd order Terror out, I'd halt Ire too --
Henceforth that sordid Anguish choose to ban.

Be of Good Cheer -- the sullen Month will die,
And a young Moon requite us by and bye:
Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan
With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky!

112

Be off, thou harsh, dead, daunting, quiet Globe;
Yea, welcome! Oh bonny, radiant, festal Dawn.
Note now Men sing this Anthem: "Rid it, go!
Oh woeful, darkly solemn Key be gone!"

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!

113

Ah, Night of no Awak'ning hastens near,
For now's the Sunset of my Life, I fear.
No more aglow with Vodka; no more Singing;
Oh, hale Mirth, too? Ah, vanished, lightsome Cheer!

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!

114

As Comrades gather, hear the Talk, and Laughing,
And Songs as Sherry they enjoy and sup;
Smooth Ales they drink -- O Sorrow? Sure. No Tears!
I want them to upend a wineless Cup.

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