Moon at Half Past Noon

The world’s cool liquor, traveler, is not my fiery wine,
The world’s cold chalice, traveler, is not a cup of mine,
A blaze in a burning cup now holds verse from heart divine,
Who fears no flame, let him approach to taste this sacred wine.

I’ve seen the liquor flowing free, now watch it flare as wine,
Behold the cup that touches lips, it burns with spark divine,
‘Not just lips, my frame burns,’ he craves one drop to brightly shine,
Today such lovers of nectar invite my tavern mine.

Has turned all scriptures to ashes, whose inner fire’s divine,
One who has broken temples, mosques, all churches of each kind,
One who’s severed all snares of Priests and clerics of the mind,
Only that one is welcome now to taste my tavern’s wine.

Whose eager lips have not yet kissed, alas, this sacred wine,
Whose trembling joyous hands, oh, shunned the bliss of cup divine,
One who hasn’t grabbed the shy server’s hand to make her shine,
That one has wasted life’s sweet chance to drink my tavern mine.

Priestess of love serves Ganges’ nectar to us as this wine,
She counts unceasing rosaries of cups with grace divine,
‘Drink more and more,’ she chants aloud, her mantra’s glow to shine,
I become Shiva’s idol, my tavern turns to sacred mine.

No bells ring out in these temples, no wreaths the idols line,
The muezzin locks the mosque, he sits in peace divine,
Kings’ treasures looted, fort walls fall, yet drinkers’ joys still shine,
Blessed be the drinkers, ever flows my tavern’s wine.