"Stint not Tonight's Wine to provision a Vain Tomorrow

Will not Heaven's Saqi vint Hope's vaster Sorrow?

Tho' we know not, alas!, how durée's disgrace came to pass

Did not Angels bow to what from Dust we yet Borrow?

 

Why does life begin to leave us at rhapsody's first breath?

The viol's catgut too imprisons Passion's endless death.

The fleet steed of life full gallop then attains

When no foot is in the stirrup, nor hand upon the reins

 

Though I need to but rise to coincide with my essence

Frozen to the marrow by alterity's delusive presence

Seeing witness and witnessed and witnessing are One

Amazement is the maze which, with us, is never done.

 

The Ocean encompasses every wave of Existence

Here is but the foam's vain bubble of Persistence

Bashfulness is delightful tho' it but blush at its own.

How many are more naked for veiled 'fore the Throne?

 

From self-adornment's torment ne'er at leisure

The eye is a Mirror veiled to its own pleasure

Presence, we know, is hidden by the nothing it hides

Who wakes from a dream, over a dream yet presides.

 

Ghalib, your cup companion has a different scent today

Only the Father of Dust pours Wine of this bouquet."

 

Mirza Ghalib (1797-1868)"