poetry

When life has been drunk to the dregs, whether at home or abroad; and its full measure used up, whether it’s been bitter or sweet; have some wine,  since after you and me, the moon will go on  waxing and waning from crescent to full. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield […]

Your cheek is fairer than  a wild white rose, and your face outshines  those China dolls. You flirted with your eyes and checkmated the king of Babylon, after you took his pawns,  bishops and rooks away. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 135

I singlehandedly keep this bar afloat. My heart has bled with repentance a couple thousand times. But if I don’t go on sinning, what would divine mercy do? He can’t bestow forgiveness unless I keep falling off the wagon. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 130

We travelled far and wide over desert wastes, and journeyed  toward the horizon. We never met anyone coming from other direction. When once they set out on that path, no one ever returned. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 129

Take care, for the age  is in an uproar. Don’t be assured, since the sword of fate  is sharp. If destiny puts candy in your path, avoid it, since it is poison.

Seekers of the truth look at the  lovely and the ugly  as the same. Lovers are at home in heaven and in hell. Those who’ve lost their hearts can dress in satin or sack cloth; the infatuated do not know if they are laying  down their heads in clouds or resting them on earthen bricks. Translated by […]

That lapis lazuli dome and golden tray  have turned time and again, and will revolve yet more. We, too, by the command of fate, arrived and left again. Translated by Juan Cole from [pdf] Whinfield 125

Have some wine, since you’ll be sleeping for a long time underground, lacking a best buddy, or a fast friend or lover. Be careful to tell no one this hidden secret: not every withered tulip is going to bloom again. Translated by Juan Cole from [pdf] Whinfield 107

Wine is melted rubies, and the glass is like a mine. The carafe is  the body, and the alcohol its soul. This crystal goblet that laughs with wine was formed from tears that concealed within themselves the heart’s own blood. Translated by Juan Cole from [pdf] Whinfield 105