The Twitterer’s Rubyiat (A new translation)
The castles where the conqueror wassailed,
Long years of time and elements assailed
The hailest knights who stood on cloth of gold
Ended as mortals in their coffins nailed.
Each dawn I rue the previous day’s excess
And vow to write more deeply, twitter less
And yet who knows how long we have to spend?
If little, every friend, our life must bless.
If wine, or writing, art, or aught, entrance
Praise them with passion, fire and eloquence
When darkness falls you will not find the stars
Disdain to turn in their long splendid dance.
Tomorrow passes into the world’s dust
Today only we have to use in trust
Therefore begrudge no kindness, and no joy
Leave no-one hungry, for kind word or crust.
Stiving from ignorance we rise to seize
The little knowledge born upon the breeze
The spoken words of scholar, wit and sage
And yet all ended in death and disease.
Awake I find another message from,
A friend who urges my excesses on.
Arise and set our little birds to flight
We’ll tweet no more when bird and cage are gone.
Perhaps we would have better not been born
Than waste and fret, alone in life forlorn
My non-existence before birth was calm
No hurt nor tumult, no despair nor scorn.
When the wee wren, the thrush, or, robin sings.
Finding its love for life in tiny things.
Why should I grieve who, have had so much more
Brought to me by stronger, loving wings.
Without the spur, of wondering what occurs.
Beyond the far horizon, or the airs.
What we have here would be more wretched still
Though from our laptops neither of us stirs.
If all that does exist: the moon and sun –
Forever in courses pre-ordained run,
Then to will other, than our free-will aims?
Impossible! : as un-firing a gun!
Simon BJ. after Omar K.