O maiden! Which burning heart has been pacified by drinking?Įvery drinker repeats only one chant, "More! More!" They started closing the shutters of the tavern, as soon as they were raised. While he is being welcomed, I have seen his farewell being prepared. They say, "He departs," at the very moment that he is born. How much love can I give and how much can I drink? She fills my goblet and passes it curtly to me.Īll the tavern wishes now is to fulfil its obligations. Where sit we together, there indeed is the tavern.Ī mere two days she served me but the young maiden is sulking now. Whose precious gem is your beauty, sparkling like sweet, intoxicating wine. Whatever the vessel in my hands, it feels like a goblet.Įvery face dissolves into the features of my wine-maiden,Īnd whatever be in front of my eyes, they fill only with visions of the tavern.Īh, Beautiful, your lovely face is like a crystal bowl, Whatever the taste on my lips, it tastes like wine. The tavern celebrates a Holi, every morning and a Diwali every night.
Only once is the game played and are garlands of lamps lit.īut, O, those who are lost in the world, come and see the tavern any day, Only once every year, the fires of Holi are lit. I am Shiva incarnate and this tavern is my temple. "Drink more! Drink more!" she intones in prayer. With unbroken pace, she rotates the rosary of wine glasses. My beloved wine-maiden seems a priest her wine as pure as the Ganga's waters. Has wasted this honey-filled tavern of Life. He that has not drawn close the coy wine-maiden by her hand, Has broken temples, mosques and churches with carefree abandon,Īnd has cut the nooses of pandits, mullahs and priests -Īlas, he that with eager lips, has not kissed this wine,Īlas, he that trembling with joy, has not touched a brimming goblet, He who has burnt all scriptures with his inner fire, If you find happiness in suffering, come to my tavern. Lost memories serve the wine, that intoxicates with pain. Hark! Hear the laughter of the drinkers, as the fragrance of the tavern wafts through the air.Ĭall it not lava, though it flows red, like a tongue of flame.Ĭall it not the blistered heart, for it is only foaming wine. We have reached there, a few steps are we from the tavern, Hark! It sounds like the tinkling of bells on the feet of an intoxicated girl. Hark! The wine gurgles and splashes as it falls from the goblet. People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say, Perplexed, he asks, "Which path will take me there?" Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern.
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