Look at This Beauty

from: Drunk on The Wine of The Beloved

Thomas Rain Crowe

 

The beauty of this poem is beyond words.

Do you need a guide to experience the heat of the sun?

 

Blessed is the brush of the painter who paints

Such beautiful pictures for his virgin bride.

 

Look at this beauty. There is no reason for what you see.

Experience its grace. Even in nature there is nothing so fine.

 

Either this poem is a miracle, or some sort of magic trick,

Guided either by Gabriel or the Invisible Voice, inside.

 

No one, not even Hafiz, can describe with words the Great Mystery.

No one knows in which shell the priceless pearl does hide.

 

 

 

O Pilgrim

from: Drunk on The Wine of The Beloved

Thomas Rain Crowe

 

O Pilgrim. Come and look into the mirror of this glass of wine!

 

And pick up your net, the Pure Bird can never be caught.

There is nothing in this cage but wind.

 

Live for the moment! When the water in the lake dried up,

Even Adam left the Garden of Safe Joy.

 

At the Mardi Gras of Life, have one or two cups of wine, then leave.

Don’t hang around waiting for an enlightened drunk!

 

Say to your heart: “My youth is gone.”

Even though you have picked no roses, use your old head skillfully,

then do the right thing.

 

The puritan know-it-all never sees the drunkard

Or secrets hidden behind the veil.

 

O Wise One, those of us who sit all day on Your threshold have more than

Earned our pay. For service rendered, to pay Your slaves in pity is OK.

 

When I handed the reins of my heart to You,

I gave up, forever, any hope of becoming anything other than a horse.

 

O student of the cup of Hafiz: drink! And then go like the wind

To the Master, and tell him the story of this great wine!

 

 

 

Writing in Code

Thomas Rain Crowe

from Drink on The Wine of The Beloved

Shambhala, 2001.

 

 

O morning breeze, bring your happy face as soon as you can

To the Beloved’s Street!

 

You are the Messenger of Mystery, and now I know I am on the

Right path. So don’t give me orders, but urge me gently on.

 

Winebringer, give me some of your reddest wine,

As my soul is slipping from my hands.

 

Let me tie all my hope to Your woven gold belt.

This diet of reason I’ve been on has led me nowhere.

That waistline of Yours traces a divine subtlety. Now I know.

 

From where I sit, the sight of Your sword is a sure sign of drought,

So take me captive and slay me with water and buckets of ice.

 

I have written these words in code, made only for Your eyes.

Please take them, and read them right away!

 

For Hafiz, speaking Turkish and Arabic are like talking in the same tongue:

He tells Love’s story in every language that he knows!