Guest guest Posted August 29, 2004 Report Share Posted August 29, 2004 Winebringer, bring me a glass of wine that's on fire! Being here with all these Perfect Masters has made me insecure. Today I made the mistake of using the first-person possessive when using His name, and the stares and jeers from the Winehouse patrons felt like a whip of nine-tails on my skin! If that weren't enough, I called Him, wrongly, by my name. Now the Wineseller ignores me and won't fill my cup. They've locked me up, now, in the attic, and I can hear them downstairs laughing, night and day. O Winebringer, have mercy! This is torture, living here in the shadows without a drink. Who was it that said: "Give me your heart and soul and I will give you peace"? What a crock — I gave You my soul and all I got was grief! The tale of wine and kisses from the Beloved has flowed from Hafiz's pen, but with hand tired and fingers sore, he wants to know: when will this sad story end? Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz Thomas Rain Crowe Shambala, 2001 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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