What shall I do, today? Visit the pub?
Sit down in a garden with a book? A bird
flies past. Where is it headed? It's out of
sight already. The drunkenness of a bird in the
burning azure. The melancholy of a man
in the cool shadow of a mosque.
I have not asked for life.
But I try to accept whatever
life brings without surprise.
And I shall depart again without having
questioned anyone about my strange
stay here on earth.
Shall I still sigh for what I have not got,
Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot?
Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath
I now am drawing is my last, or not!
I hide my distress, just like
the blessed birds hide themselves
when they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and your
indifference to my sadness, my loved-one!
Tis but a day we sojourn here below,
And all the gain we get is grief and woe,
Then, leaving our life's riddles all unsolved,
And burdened with regrets, we have to go.
Tag: futility antinatalism
I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.
Omar Khayyámهر یک چندی یکی بر آید که: منم! با نعمت و با سیم و زر آید که: منم!
چون کارَک او نظام گیرد روزی، ناگه، اجل از کمین در آید که: منم!
این قافلهی عمر عجب میگذرد
دریاب دمی که با طرب میگذرد
ساقی غم فردای حریفان چه خوری
پیش آر پیاله را که شب میگذرد
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n,
and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light
Tag: poetry sun heaven stars poet dawn new-day sunrise persian end-of-night
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.
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