Like God, if this world I could control
Eliminating the world would be my role
I would create the world anew, whole
Such that the free soul would attain desired goal.
This cup was made by the Wise Lord
With love & care to the heights soared
The potter who shaped with such accord
To make and break the same clay, can also afford.
Good and evil, our moral prison,
Joy and sorrow passing like season,
Fate in the way of logic and reason
Is the victim of far worse treason.
Why treat thy slave so cold as ice?
Where is thy light to save me from vice?
Even with command of Paradise
Where is thy gift above my just price?
Hark! Feed me wine, if you really care
Turn into ruby my face of amber
Bathe me in wine when death me ensnare
With boards of vine my coffin bear.
Wherever you go in the land of God
Flowers bloom from kingly blood
Violet with its colourful shroud
Was a beauty mole on a face once proud.
An old potter at his wheel
Clay and dirt mould and deal
My inner eye would reveal
My father's dust bears his seal.
The grass that grows by every stream
Like angelic smiles faintly gleam
Step gently, cause it not to scream
For it has grown from a lover's dream.
OMAR KHAYYAM'S TOMB
Neishapur, Iran
http://www.iranchamber.com/literature/khayyam/rubaiyat_khayyam4.php