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Let us now continue with the reading of Omar Khayyam’s fascinating and thought-provoking poetry, from the collection “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.” It is important for one to know about the twofold meanings of Khayyam’s poetry, as he invites the reader to make the connection between the inner and the outer. By using earthy figurative expressions, he beautifully paints the more subtle perceptions of the soul. “I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer’d, once did live, And drink; and Ah! the cold Lip I kiss’d How many Kisses might it take - and give!” “And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press End in what All begins and ends in — Yes; Think then you are TODAY what YESTERDAY You were — TO-MORROW you shall not be less.” “While the Rose blows along the River Brink, With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink And when the Angel with his darker Draught Draws up to Thee — take that and do not shrink.” “When you and I behind the Veil are past O, 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.” “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?” “Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all — but He remains.” “But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door You gaze TODAY, while You are You — how then TOMORROW when You shall be You no more?” “Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute; Better be merry with the fruitful grape Than sadden after none, or bitter fruit.” “The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The subtle Alchemist that [can] in a Trice Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute:” “But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me The Quarrel of the Universe let be: And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht, Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.” “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!” “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.” “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.” “I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return’d to me, And answer’d ‘I Myself am Heav’n and Hell’:” “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.” “Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp the sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits – and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”
