The colors of tulips and roses are not the same,
Yet in each we assent to the single Spring.
We turn our hands to the sketchbook only for Love:
Needing some pretext for meeting.
What sorry man drinks for pleasure?
Night and day, I raise oblivion's glass.
In the hour of forgetfulness, the head lies by the wine-jar;
In the hour of prayer, the face turns to the Call.
Let me be clear: however the world's goblet turns,
Those who know are always drunk on the wine of the Self.
- Ghalib
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"The Enlightened Heart"
An Anthology of Sacred Poetry
Edited by Stephen Mitchell
Harper & Row, New York , 1989
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