Perhaps the work, the love, the loss, the fearthe arbitrary paths on which they veer
fall into place once everything’s over
fall into place and become at once clear
but love’s boundless how can it disappear?done with tomorrow, or sometime next year
a lover’s forever damned to be a lover
a worker all his days to persevere
it could be that there’s some charioteermore likely it’s what we prefer to hear
patch the edge of infinite and never
with flute and cream and force them to cohere.
reasons are fruits, the randomness that’s hereis the only promise made to us, my dear
lucid grasp of it wasn’t the covenant ever
only the work, the love, the loss, the fear.
I'm still somewhat obsessed with the eastern forms, though can't quite get my head around syllable counts and caesuras and such. Does it look like a rubai to you?
Happy birthday, Baba! Celebrating it here with a big biryani and a few rubais!