since the beginning, god’s own whim has always inspired us:
“who am i” has nurtured our voice from stone to singing dust.
our thirst has grown gradually to become our best friend;
it is on the glass of desire that all our hopes now depend.
love at first was scarcely an intermittent drop;
now each drink promises a bottle to be our lot.
it has come to this- we don’t know who we are unless drunk;
all but your laugh, smile, kiss and touch is trash- pure bunk!
we approach your grace with our empty glass held high;
we live with the one thought that by your mercy we die.
the dawn breeze brought the scent of strong shirazi wine;
i resolved at once to all other apertifs decline!
darvish can no longer be sure who or what he is-
he has no doubt the beloved is truth, beauty and bliss!