My renditions of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

 

 

Pour, into my cup, come in the slumbers of dawn

Cast away the ash and sackcloth, granted life

The pheonix landed to visit awhile

Tomorrow the bird takes flight

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When the Morning Dove sings her songs

We who hear her cheerful melodies

Good morning lovely lady!

You know how a birds song embraces

Man to his God

Do come again at least one more day

On Wednesday, remember to pray

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A satchel of poetry rests over my shoulder

A silver pen, parchments and paper, and a journal

Laying them next to the wine on the blanket next to you

And you are Mars to me, and I Venus

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Desires of fame and wealth beyond needs

And some want the end of the world to come

But he who demands the payout and dismisses the harbingers

Will not hear the tuning of the trumpeters calls

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The vigor and youthful spirit bursts

When rooting, by connecting to the dirt

The heat of summer and thirsty blood

Lasts numbered seasons of the young

 

Tis the man who hungers knowledge

Their roots die under drought and swelters

But, I barely remember

Hah, seems long ago, thoughts of flaming embers

 

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K♣︎©2016 Bonnie Jennings “Urdu For Mother” All Rights Reserved