Rubaiyat about wine. Omar Khayyam: Newsland – comments, discussions and news discussions.

Rubaiyat part 1 (Translation - O. Rumer)

Here again the day has disappeared, like a light moan of the wind, From our life, friend, it has fallen forever. But while I am alive, I will not worry about the day that has passed, and the day that is not born.

Where did we come from? Where are we going on our way? What is the meaning of our life? He is incomprehensible to us. How many pure souls under the azure wheel Burn into ashes, into dust, and where, tell me, is the smoke?

The mysterious potter, sculpting skulls, showed a special gift for this art: He overturned the cup onto the tablecloth of existence, and in it, a blazing fire ignited passions.

If all my goods were one brick, I would take it to the circle in exchange for half a glass. How will I live tomorrow? I will sell a turban into a cloak, After all, it was not Saint Mary who wove them.

The mountain, having sipped some wine, would have started dancing. A fool who only reserves slander for wine. Are you saying that we should shun wine? Nonsense! It is the wondrous spirit that animates us.

How tired I am of obnoxious hypocrites! Bring me some wine, saki, and by the way, put my Turbay in the tavern and my prayer rug; Not only in words I am the enemy of all these lies.

The verses of the Koran are reverently revered everywhere, but how do they read them? Not often and not zealously. You, the verse sparkling along the edge of the cup, are read in the evening, and during the day, and early in the morning.

I marvel at you, potter, that you have the spirit to crush the clay, beat it, give it hundreds of slaps, After all, this wet dust was trembling flesh. Until the fire of life in her went out.

Know that in every atom here on earth lurks a beautiful-faced idol that once breathed. Carefully remove a speck of dust from your lovely braids: She was a particle of lovely curls.

Alas, we are not given many days to stay here. Living them without love and without wine is a sin. There is no need to think whether this world is old or young: If we are destined to leave, do we really care?

Oh, if only, taking with me a sofa of poetry and a jug of wine and putting bread in my pocket, I could spend a day with you among the ruins, any sultan could envy me.

Be deaf to the learned talk about God, Kiss the idol clinging to its head. Until evil fate sheds your blood, fill your cup with priceless grapes with blood.

My idol, the potter sculpted you so that before you the moon is ashamed of its charms. Let others decorate themselves for the holiday; you have the gift of decorating the holiday.

My idol is the worst of bitter failures! He himself is plunged, but not by me, into the heat of love and crying. Alas, can I hope for healing, since my only doctor is seriously ill?

You are my poor heart, Lord, have mercy, And the chest that is tormented by the hateful fire, And the legs that always carry me to the tavern, And the hand that the dear cup loves to squeeze so much.

To grow an escape of despondency in the soul is a crime, Until the entire book of pleasure has been read. Seize the joys and drink wine greedily: Life is short, alas! Her moments fly by.

Get some wine here! Now is not the time to sleep, I want to praise spring with roses. But first, I will splash wine in the face of Reason, the annoying old man, to put him to sleep.

Tomorrow - alas! - is hidden from our eyes! Hurry to use the hour flying into the abyss. Drink, moon-faced one! How often will the month rise into the sky, no longer seeing us.

The face of the rose is refreshed by the breath of spring, The eyes of the beloved are full of the beauty of the meadows, Today is a wonderful day! Take a glass and stop thinking about the winter cold: they are always sad.

Friends, a glass is a mine of flowing ruby, And hops are the spiritual core of a glass. The wine that burns in the crystal is a cover of tears, barely covered by the bloody abyss.

I asked the cup, pressing my lips to it: “Where is the series of nights and days leading me?” Without lifting its lips, the bowl answered me: “Oh, you will never return to this world again. Drink!

I love the cheerful appearance of a full glass, I love the sound of harps that ring pitifully, I love the prude to whom the joy of hops is alien, - When he is a hundred miles away, hidden by the mountains, I love.

Is it reasonable for me to be afraid of death? Only once will I look into her face, when my time comes. And is it worth it to regret that I - a bloody mucus, a bag of bones and veins - will suddenly disappear from my eyes?

A call from a tavern woke me up from sleep: “Here, dissolute wine lovers! Let us quickly fill the cups with purple moisture, While the measure of days, like a cup, is not full.”

Oh, how many times, getting up from sleep, I promised that in the future I would not drink wine, But now, Lord, I don’t make a vow: Can I not drink when spring has come?

Look: the flesh of the glass is pregnant with the soul, As if a lily were pregnant with a rose, No, this is a handful of flowing fire In the womb of a crystal clear as a mountain spring.

Let the lover barely stand on his feet, Let his head buzz from drunkenness. Only a sober person is consumed by worries, but for a drunk, everything in the world is a mess.

People often tell me: “Drink less wine! Tell us, whose fault is it that you are drunk?” The face of my beloved is to blame for this: I cannot help but drink when she is with me.

Pour wine into glasses and sing a song for us, Mixing your voice with the nightingale’s lamentations! You can’t drink without singing, because otherwise the wine would be poured into the jug without gurgling.

The prohibition of wine is a law that takes into account who drinks it, when, how much, and with whom. When all these reservations are met, drinking is a sign of wisdom, and not a vice at all.

How long will our captives be in a worldly prison? Who tells us to live with melancholy for a hundred years or a day? So pour wine into a glass until you yourself become an earthenware utensil in a pottery workshop.

Pour, even though you already look tired, More wine: it gives life to us, Oh boy, hurry up! Our world is like a fairy tale, And your life, alas, runs tirelessly.

Drink, for soon you will be reduced to dust. I was taking a friend, without your wife your sleep will be long. Now I will whisper two words in your ear: “When a tulip has faded, it cannot bloom.”

All those who once came here noisily and went mad with the joys of the earth, took a sip of wine, then immediately fell silent and lay down in the bosom of eternal oblivion.

I went to the potter: he put a lump of lump and looked at the wet one on his round machine: He sculpted necks and handles for vessels from royal skulls and from shepherds' legs.

Even if you lived your life without severe torment, what next? Even though your life has come full circle, what next? Let you live a hundred years in bliss, and a hundred years more - tell me, my friend, what's next?

Our coming and leaving are mysterious - their goals All the sages of the earth failed to comprehend, Where is the beginning of this circle, where is the end, Where did we come from, where will we go from here?

Even if you live a hundred years, even if you live ten hundred years, you will still have to leave this world. Whether you are a padishah or a beggar in the bazaar, your price is the same: there are no ranks for death.

You have seen the world, but everything you have seen is nothing. All that you said and heard is nothing. The result is the same, whether you sat at home all your life, or walked from end to end of the world, it’s nothing.

We cannot find a shield from the arrows that throw death: She is equally tough with both the beggar and the king. To live with pleasure, live for pleasure, Believe everything else! - just vanity.

Where the palace stood in the distant years And a succession of sultans spent their days, There now a turtle dove sits among the ruins And cries pitifully: “Where, where, where?”

Every morning I hurry to the tavern, accompanied by fellow revelers. If you want, Lord, to make me friends with prayer, give me faith, holy giver of blessings!

Holding a jug of wine in my hand is a joy; I don’t need to touch the sacred scrolls: I’m wet from the wine; not for me, you dry hypocrite, not for me, but for you, the flames of hell are dangerous.

Don't scold us drunkards! If God wanted, He would send us repentance as our destiny. Don't brag that you don't drink - you have a lot to do with it, Buddy, I know much worse things.

The sheikh said to the harlot: “Every day you are drunk, And every hour you are lured into the net of others!” To him: “You’re right; but are you yourself what you seem to everyone?” - she answered.

For the fact that we always drink and dance in intoxication, For the fact that we show honor to the cups, Don’t reproach us, hypocrite! We are in love with wine, And sweet lips are always at our service.

We perform prayers over the edge of the cup, We elevate our spirit with purple wine; From now on, we decide to make up for the hours that we spent uselessly in mosques in the tavern.

Could a potter really break a vessel he made in irritation, disdaining his work? And how many beautiful slender legs, heads and arms, lovingly made, are broken in our hearts here!

The firmament of heaven is cruel and stingy with grace, so drink and sit on the throne of joy. Before the Lord, both sin and obedience are equal. Take from life everything you can take.

Enjoy wine every day - no, every hour: After all, only it can make us wiser, If Ivlis once drank wine, He would bow to Adam two hundred times.

I dreamed of a sage. “The beautiful flower of joy will not bloom in a dream,” he said to me, “so why are you indulging in sleep? Better drink the juice of the grapes, you’ll have time to sleep while lying in a damp grave.”

This cruel world exposes us to a succession of hopeless sorrows, merciless torments. Blessed is the one who stayed in it for a short time and left, And who did not come at all, even more blessed.

Believe me, I am far from the fear of death: What is more terrible than life, what has fate prepared for me? I only received my soul to hold and I will return it when the time comes.

Since Venus and the Moon are in the sky, Who has seen anything more beautiful than wine? I’m amazed that wine merchants are selling it: Where is the thing that would be equal in value?

Your gifts, O life, are despondency and darkness; The cup of intoxication is only dear to us. After all, wine is the blood of the world, and the world is our bloodsucker. So how can we not drink the blood of our blood enemy?

The flow of wine is a spring of peace of mind, It heals a tired, sick heart. Are you facing a flood of despair? Seek Salvation in wine: you are with him in Noah’s ark.

The crown from the head of the king, the crown of the Bogdykhans And the most expensive of the holy turbans I would give for a song, but for a cup of wine I would trade my rosary, this horde of deceptions.

Don’t renounce drinking the priceless grape juice, you will let repentance come to your doorstep. Nightingales weep and roses bloom... Is your vow really appropriate at such an hour?

Friend, be aware of your poverty! You came into the world with nothing, the grave will take everything. “I don’t drink, because death is near,” you tell me; But drink or don’t drink, she spins in her own time.

Eternal anxiety does not allow me to breathe, My chest is tired from the groans of sorrow. Why did I come into the world, since - either without me or with me - Does it still follow its incomprehensible path?

My embryo is watered with the water of non-existence, My gloomy spirit is ignited with the fire of suffering; Like the wind, I rush from end to end of the universe And with a handful of earth I will end my life’s dream.

We are always full of incompatible desires: A glass in one hand, the other on the Koran. And so we live under the blue vault, Half-atheists and half-Muslims.

Of all those who went on that long journey. Has anyone even returned back? Don’t leave good things at this crossroads: There is no return to it, don’t forget about that.

The Gurias and I are promised heaven in this world And cups full of purple wine. To run away from beauties and wine in this world. Is it reasonable if we come to them anyway?

The spring rain did not make it any colder; The cloud washed the flowers, and the nightingale called to the pale rose in a secret language: “Beauty, drink purple wine!”

You tell me: “Beyond the grave you will find Wine and sweet honey. Kavser and Gury." Well, so much the better. But now bring me a cup: More expensive than a thousand on credit is a penny in cash.

At that hour, when the violet blossoms in its finery and the morning wind flies into the spring garden, Blessed is he who sits down to pour together with his silver breast and then breaks his glass on the stone slab.

I once met a drunken man at the door of a tavern with a prayer rug and a cup of an old man; Noticing my astonished gaze, he exclaimed: “Death awaits us ahead, let’s drink for now!”

The caravan of this life does not hesitate on its way: Having had a little fun, we must leave. Don’t think about what awaits your comrades tomorrow. Bring the wine here, it’s almost dawn.

Before the gaze of sweet eyes, engulfed in the fire of wine, Fly with your winged foot and dance under the splash of your palms! The tenth cup is of little use, really: To quench your thirst, prepare the sixtieth.

Alas, wisdom is of no use in our lives, And only complete fools are the favorites of rock. To make fate more kind to me, give me here a jug of intoxicating juice that clouds our minds.

One Taurus hangs high in the sky, Another supports the ashes with his ridge. And between both calves, look, what a multitude of donkeys Allah grazes!

Communicating with a fool will not bring you shame. Therefore, listen to Khayyam’s advice: Accept the poison offered to you by the sage, but do not accept balm from the hands of a fool.

To please fate, it is useful to suppress murmurs. To please people, a flattering whisper is useful. I often tried to be cunning and cunning, But every time my fate disgraced my experience.

O child of the four elements, heed the news from the secret world that knows no flattery! You are a beast and a man, you are an evil spirit and an angel; Everything you seem to be is hidden together within you.

Become famous in the city - you will arouse resentment, And become a homebody - you will arouse suspicion. Wouldn't it be better for you, even if you were Khizr, not to know anyone, to live always in solitude?

In prayer and fasting, it seemed to me, I had found the Path to deliverance from all sins and evils; But somehow I accidentally forgot about the ablution, took a sip of wine - and the fast went to dust.

Prayers on the side! Having chosen the good part, I decided to fall back into the former dissipation And, stretching out my neck like the neck of a vessel, I suck at the vessels of the tavern to my heart's content.

We drink not because we are drawn to fun, And we do not set ourselves a goal of unbridledness. We want to get away from ourselves for a moment And only because of this we are inclined to the intoxicated potion.

You burst into me like a hurricane, Lord, And knocked over my glass of wine, Lord! I indulge in drunkenness, and you commit outrages? Thunder strike me, since you are not drunk, Lord!

Quickly wake up from your sleep, oh my saki! Pour some purple wine, oh my saki! Until our skulls are turned into cups, Let a couple of cups be full, oh my saki!

Be like the fire hidden in the rock, And the waves of death will still find a way to you. Isn't this world dust? Oh, play me a song! Isn't this life smoke? Give me some wine!

I have been sweeping the tavern floor with my mustache for a long time, My soul is deaf to good and evil alike. The world will collapse, I mutter in a drunken dream: “It seems like a grain of barley has rolled down.”

This feast in which you live is a mirage, nothing more. So is it worth grumbling and yearning for a better life? Make peace with torment and don’t fight with fate: We can erase what it has written, or what?

You are still trying to penetrate into the secrets of light, into the riddle of existence... What, my friend, is all this for? Spend the hours of your nights and days carelessly, After all, everything was arranged without your advice.

Before the drunken nightingale that flew into the garden, a laughing glass sparkled among the laughing roses, And, flying up to me, the singer of love in a secret dialect: “Seize the moment!” - said.

I always desire a cup of pure wine, And I would listen to the moans of gentle flutes tirelessly. When the potter transforms my ashes into a jug, May it be constantly filled.

Alas, fate will erase us from the book of life, And the hour of death may not be far from us. Don’t hesitate, saki, bring the moisture quickly, so that you can irrigate our ashes with it tomorrow.

How long will you reproach us, you nasty hypocrite, because we burn with true love for the tavern? Wine and sweetheart make us happy, but you are entangled in rosaries and hypocritical lies.

Think less about the evil of our fate, From morning to evening, do not part with the cup, Sit down with the forbidden daughter of the vine, - she is more beautiful than her permitted parent.

We willingly pay for any wine, but what about the world? Its price is barley grain. “When we finish our lives, where do we go?” Pour me some wine and you can leave, I don’t care where.

With friends, rejoice in spring while you are young: Don’t leave anything at the bottom of the jug! After all, this world was once flooded with water, So why don’t we drown in wine?

Give up wine? Yes, it’s the same as giving your life! How will you compensate for the wine? Can I become a follower of Islam, When the highest of blessings is forbidden to them?

For a long time I fixed the inquisitive gaze of my eyes on the world - the haven of our few days. So what? Your face is brighter than the bright moon; Than a slender cypress, your wonderful figure is straighter.

Whose heart does not burn with passionate love for his beloved, drags out his sad life without consolation. I consider days spent without the joys of love as unnecessary and hateful burdens.

Tell me, why are you persecuting me, O heaven? If you had stones, you would send them all to me. To get water, I have to bend my back, I have to wander for the sake of a piece of bread.

Wealth, there is no word, cannot replace intelligence, But for the poor, earthly paradise is a prison. The beggar violet bows her face, and the rose Laughs: her bag is full of gold.

The one on whose table there is a cracked jug of fresh water and only bread, Alas, has to bend before the one below Or call the one who is equal “master.”

Oh, if only I could have a crust of bread every day, a roof over my head and a modest corner, where I wouldn’t be anyone’s master or anyone’s slave! Then you could bless the sky for your happiness.

100

On whose table is wine, sweets, and pilaf? Crude ignoramus. Yes, rock - alas - is like that! Turkish eyes are the most beautiful in the world - Who do we find? Usually among slaves.

101

I know this type of pompous asses: Empty as a drum, but so many loud words! They are slaves of names. Just make up a name for yourself, And any of them is ready to crawl before you.

102

O heaven, I am tired of your rotation, My moan ascends to you without response. Only you have mercy on the ignorant and foolish, so know this: I am no longer so wise, not so enlightened.

103

In vain do you blame fate for inconstancy; You don’t even know that you are at a loss. If he were constant in his mercies, You could wait your turn until death.

104

To live your life wisely, you need to know a lot. Remember two important rules to begin with: You’d better starve than eat anything, And it’s better to be alone than with just anyone.

105

To experience happiness, pour yourself some wine, despise the present day, do not regret the past, and remove the chains of the mind, even for a single moment, the temporary jailer, from your soul.

106

Cheerful laughter or drunken languor is sacred to me, Another faith or heresy is unfamiliar to me. I asked fate: “Who do you love?” She answered: “Hearts, where joy is forever at home.”

107

Let not the paths of damned fate torment you, Let not the chest of victory and loss trouble you. When you leave the world, it won’t matter what you did, said, or how you stained yourself.

108

Tomorrow is hidden from us by thick darkness, Just the thought of it frightens and torments. Don't miss this fleeting moment! Who knows, does the future promise you tears?

109

No matter what you do, fate with a sharp dagger is nearby, Insidious and cruel to human children. Even if they put a gingerbread in your mouth, - Be careful, don’t eat it - it’s probably mixed with poison.

110

Oh, how merciless is the cycle of time! Not one of all the knots is resolved for them: But, barely noticing a wound in someone’s heart, He is already preparing a new wound for him.

111

Under this sky, life is a series of torments, but will it take pity on us? Never. O unborn ones! If you had a chance to know about our torments, you would not have come here.

112

The men, by whose wisdom this world was captivated, in whom he saw the lights of knowledge, did not find the road out of this dark night, chattered and fell into sleep.

113

This is how the firmament told me: “O man, I am condemned by fate to this terrible run. If I had power over my own rotation, I would have stopped it forever long ago.”

114

We came clean, we leave with a brand on our foreheads, we came with peace in our souls, we leave in tears, washed by the water of our eyes and the blood of life, we let it go to the wind and leave again in the dust.

115

If only I could be free in my desires, And if evil fate had lost its power over me, I would be glad not to be born at all, So that there would be no need to leave in a short time.

116

One day I met in front of an old ashes with my husband, who lived there as a hermit and beggar; He shunned faith, laws, and deity: We will not find a more courageous husband than him.

117

Be merciful, life, my evil cupbearer! Lies, callousness and meanness suck for me. Enough to add! Verily, from the cup I am ready to pour out your bitter drink.

118

O heart, your destiny - never knowing sleep, drink from the cup of sorrow, drink it to the dregs. Why, soul, did you settle in my body, since you still have to leave it?

119

Which of us does not await the last, Last Judgment, where a wise sentence will be pronounced over him? Let us appear on that day, sparkling with whiteness: After all, all the dark-faced people will be condemned.

120

Who penetrated the secrets of eternity? It’s not us, friends, The mystery of existence remains dark to us, Sometimes people whisper about “I” and “you” behind the canopy, But the canopy will fall - and where are we, you and me?

121

No one saw either heaven or hell; Has anyone returned from there to our corruptible world? But these bodiless ghosts are an unchanging source of fears and hopes for us.

122

For those who are experienced in the deceit of our lot, Are not all joys and all torments the same? Both evil and good are given to us for a short period of time. Is it worth treating for fleeting pain?

123

Do you know why in the pre-dawn hour the Rooster makes his mournful cry so many times? He forces us to see in the mirror of the dawn, That another night has passed secretly from us.

124

Heavenly circle, you are our eternal adversary! You are happy to deprive us, to torture us. Wherever you dig, earth, in your depths, everywhere lies the priceless treasure captured from us.

125

Don’t gloomily lay responsibility for the fact that life’s sleep is short, that you are deprived of earthly joy, on the turquoise vault: Truly, it is more helpless than you.

126

The vault of the sky is the hump of human existence, Jeyhun is an insignificant stream of bloody tears, Hell is a spark from the fire of hopeless suffering, Paradise is a short joy, O man, yours!

127

For me to live even one day without wine is suffering. Without hops I can hardly eke out an existence. But the day is coming when the cup will be handed to me, but I will not be able to lift it.

128

You, the book of youth, have been finished reading, alas! The hours of fun are gone forever! O bird of youth, you quickly flew away, Seeking fresh meadows and greener foliage.

129

The rose of the eyelids is short-lived: it bloomed a little - it faded, the acquaintance with the breeze barely met - it faded. Less than a week after she was born, she tore apart the tight prison and withered away.

130

Only in the sky will the dawn dawn, barely visible, Draw from the cup the juice of the invaluable vine! We know: the truth in the mouths of people is bitter, - So, that means we should consider wine to be the truth.

131

Away with all thoughts about how little the light gave me. And is it necessary to run after pleasure! Bring me some wine, saki! Hurry, because I don’t know whether I will have time to breathe out what I have inhaled or not.

132

Since I began to distinguish my hands from my feet, You have tied my hands, an immeasurably vile fate, But you will also repay me for the days when neither the gaze of a beauty nor the drunken grapes of juice sparkled for me.

133

The immortal Hunter filled the nets with grains, and the game fell into them, attracted by these grains. He called this game people and blamed it for the evil that he himself was doing in the world.

134

Since God's and my desires are dissimilar, mine cannot possibly be pleasing to God. If the will of the Lord is good, then I cannot be saved from my sins, alas, my efforts are fruitless.

135

Even though the wise Sharia has condemned the wine, Even though it is saturated with tart bitterness, It’s sweet for me to drink with my dear. No wonder it is said: “We reach for what is forbidden to us.”

136

I don’t spend a day without a cup or a glass, But this holy night of Ramadan I want - lips to lips and chest to chest, not to let go of my beloved jug.

137

He will not take a vow of sobriety, to whom wine is the sweetest of blessings, to whom it is his whole life. Whoever swore not to drink in Ramadan, let it be, even though he is allowed not to perform namaz.

138

Whether I was sculpted by the Lord of heaven or hell, I don’t know, but I don’t need to know: My angel, and wine, and lute are here with me, And for you they are an afterlife reward.

139

Pour some wine, saki! Melancholy oppresses the chest; We cannot hold back life, flowing like mercury. Don't hesitate! A brief dream of granted happiness. Don't hesitate! Youth, alas, has a short journey.

140

Alas, you cannot take a sip of water, Lest rock and hops add to your torment; You cannot salt a slice of rye bread, lest your salty fingers touch the wounds.

141

The rose said: “Ah, my beauty goes to the pink spruce, which is no dearer!” “He who smiled for a moment must cry for years,” the nightingale answered in a secret language.

142

Don’t complain about the machinations of evil fate, Don’t drown in melancholy, eyes warmed by water! And drink purple wine day and night, Until you leave the circle of this life.

143

The grass with which - look! - bordered by the ripples of a ringing stream - fragrant and tender. Do not trample her with contempt: perhaps she rose from the ashes of angelic beauty.

144

A faience jug, drunk as if in a dream, Recently I threw it against a stone; suddenly, in a voice quite clear to Me, he whispered: “I was like You, and you will be like me.”

145

Yesterday I went into the pottery shop at a late hour, and the conversation of the pots reached me. “Who are the potters,” one of them asked me, “Who are the buyers, who are the sellers among us?”

146

When, like a tree, I am torn out of existence by the roots and I crumble into dust, Let a tavern jug be molded from the dust, Filled with wine, I will come to life, friends.

147

Life is forced on us; its whirlpool Stuns us, but one moment - and now it’s time to leave, not knowing the purpose of life, A meaningless arrival, a meaningless departure!

148

Then I hear: “Don’t drink, now we have Shaban,” and then: “Rejeb is coming, don’t get drunk.” Let it be so: these are the months of Allah and the prophet; Well, I’ll choose Ramadan for my drinking.

149

When you molded flesh from clay for me, You knew that I could not overcome my passions; Is it not your fault that my life is sinful? Tell me, why should I burn in hell, Lord?

150

Are you merciful to people? No, it doesn’t look like it! Why did you expel the sinner from paradise? Is it a great merit to forgive the obedient? Forgive the disobedient, O merciful God!

151

Someday, overwhelmed by the fire of love, entangled and drunk in fragrant curls, I will fall at your feet, dropping the cup from my hands and the disheveled turban from my drunken head.

152

Shaban is replaced today by Ramadan, - You need to part with your glass friend. Before parting, I’ll get so drunk for the last time that I’ll be drunk for the entire month before I break my fast.

153

Even though I am a drunkard, O city mufti, I am still sedate in comparison with you; You suck people’s blood, I say. Who is more bloodthirsty, Me or you? Tell me without bending your heart.

154

Drunkards, let the tavern be filled with you, Let the cloaks of the bigoted saints be engulfed in flames, Let the scraps of venerable cassocks made of blue wool drag under drunken feet!

155

I don’t deny that I’m friends with wine, no, but do you rightly blaspheme me, neighbor? Oh, if only all sins gave rise to intoxication! Then we would only hear drunken nonsense.

156

I ask that my grave be razed to the ground, so that I may be an example of Humility to all honest people; Then, mixing my ashes with purple wine, mold the tire to the tavern vessel.

157

The spirit of slavery is hidden in the idol and in the Kaaba, the ringing of bells is the language of the slave’s humility, and the black seal of slavery equally lies on the rosary and the cross, on the church and the mihrab.

158

They are raging in cells, mosques and churches, Hope to enter heaven and fear of hell. Only in the soul who has understood the secret of the world, the juice of these weeds has dried up and withered.

159

Whoever thinks that God is inexorable is wrong. No, he is merciful to us, even though we sin. You die in a tavern today from a fever, - in a year he will forgive this sin to your bones.

160

In the depths of heaven there is a glass, invisible to the eye; It is prepared there for each of us. Therefore, my friend, cling to its edges with your lips resignedly when your time comes.

161

What is your flesh, Khayyam? A tent where to spend the night, Like a wandering Shah, the spirit made a stop. Tomorrow at dawn he will resume his journey, And the evil farrash will roll up the tent rope to death.

162

How long will flowers and smells possess you? How long will good and evil torment your mind to the point of pain: You, at least be the Earth, even the key of youth, You must go to the dust, submissive to the common lot.

163

Cheer up, my friend! There are few days left until the good month, - it will revive us again, The moon’s form is crooked, its face turns pale, - She is ready to fade away from the torments of fasting.

164

What should we wash ourselves with if not wine, friends? Only the leading path to the tavern is dear to us. So let's drink! After all, the cloak of our decency is Izodran, it can no longer be repaid.

165

Although the cup of intoxication is forbidden to us, Do not go a day without song and wine; Pour a drop from a full bowl onto the ground, and then drain it all to the bottom.

166

Even if I am known as a drunkard, an impossible reveler, a Fire-worshipper, a godless pagan, I, being true only to myself, do not attach value to all these nicknames - be they true or false.

167

If you are my friend, leave the word game and pour me some wine; When I die, make a brick from my ashes, take it to the tavern and plug the hole in the wall there.

168

When you and I breathe our last breath, mine and yours will be laid on the ashes, one brick at a time. And how many gravestone bricks will be dried from our ashes in a year or two!

169

Let's leave the conversation about eternity and decay. In the stream of thoughts I felt a blockage. What can replace wine during fun times? Instantly any argument in front of him subsides.

170

I want to get drunk so that from my grave, when I go down into it, a sweet wine smell comes out, so that it intoxicates you and leaves you dead, passing fellow revelers!

171

Hurry up and drink wine: will you be able to pass sixty? I don't think so. Until your skull is turned into a jug, don’t part with your jug of wine, brother.

172

Today is Friday: therefore, change your cup to your cup, and if you drink from the cup all the days, double it today: Remember this sacred day especially!

173

To fly upward, wine, you teach our souls, With you, like with a mole, a handsome man, the mind is more beautiful. We spent the whole long Ramadan soberly, - Finally, Shawwal. Fill your cups, dear one!

174

Shawwal has arrived. Let the cupbearer pour wine into our cups, the muffler of worries. The muzzle of strict fasting, the bridle of prayers, the good Shawwal will rip off these donkey muzzles.

175

When I'm sober, I don't like the white light. When I'm drunk, my mind goes into delirium. I value only the state between sobriety and intoxication; outside of it there is no bliss for us.

176

I am in captivity of the world - I see this clearly: I am burdened by my nature all the time. I was unable to comprehend either this or this world. I strained my inquisitive mind in vain.

177

The blood in our veins is becoming scarce, our strength is diminishing; Oh, you never know how many hearts you have killed, you hateful fate! He who has gone on a long journey has disappeared forever. We have no one to ask about the land beyond the grave.

178

A series of dull autumns passed over us, And the falling leaves dispelled the days of our life. Drink! After all, the sage said that only wine and dope can overcome the anguish of spiritual poison.

179

Saki, my melancholy screams furiously in a fit. How to cure it, if not with drunken stupor? A gray beard does not stop me from drinking: Your wine gives birth to spring in an old heart.

180

If I poisoned the whole world with my filth, I hope you would forgive me, O merciful one! But you promised to give me a hand in need: Don’t wait for my need to become immeasurable.

181

When I free myself from the shackles of life and people consign my image to oblivion, Oh, if only then - shall I tell you? - for drunkards A vessel was fashioned from my ashes!

182

If you had comprehended life, then out of the darkness And death would have revealed its features to you. Now you are on your own, but you don’t know anything. What will you know when you leave yourself?

183

I searched God's light all the way to Saturn. I managed to find the answer to all the riddles in him, I managed to overcome all the bonds and obstacles, Only your knot, oh death, has not been unraveled by me, no!

184

We devoted more than one year to learning. Then it was our turn to teach others. What are the conclusions from all this science? From dust we came, the wind will carry us away.

185

With my mind I felt all the links of the universe, I comprehended the lofty human soul of the guy, And, despite this, I will confidently say: There is no state of blissful intoxication.

186

I searched for Dzhemshid's cup without knowing sleep, but when I had walked around the earth, I learned from a wise man that I had walked so far in vain - it is in my soul.

187

He came, the hour of my life's ruin, From the dark waves, alas, I saved nothing! I held the cup for Dzhemshid, but a moment later it broke; I am a torch of joy, but in a moment it goes out.

188

Having sewn countless tents of wisdom, Khayyam fell into the furnace of torment and burned to the ground. The thread of life was cut short, and Nadezhda, an old merchant, sold the ashes for next to nothing.

189

When you sit down again at the table, like a close family, I ask you, O friends, to remember your friend and overturn the cup In the place where I used to sit among you.

190

When the final day overtakes the universe, And the heavens collapse, and the Milky Way darkens, I, grabbing the Creator by the floor, will ask: “Why did you kill me, Eternal Lord?”