Whatever He Poured We Would Drink Down
With hair disheveled, face flushed, and smiling drunkenly,
Wine-cup in hand, shirt open, singing poetry,
Eyes seeking out brawls, lips pouted with derision,
Last night he graced my bedside and sat next to me.
He lowered his head down to my ear: “Stalwart lover,
Are you asleep?” he whispered, disappointedly.
A lover given such sleep-stealing wine is guilty–
If he won’t worship wine–of infidelity.
Preacher, don’t fault those who even drink the dregs!
This is our only keepsake from Pre-eternity.
Whether the heavenly wine or the plain, heady kind–
Whatever he poured we would drink down unquestioningly.
The wine-cup’s smiling rim, the sweetheart’s tangled tresses–
So many vows, like Hafez’s, they’ve shattered mercilessly!
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