Oh how slowly does he pour my drink!
Lest I sear my throat to soon
And slumber through the new moon
The barkeeper keeping me at bay
For the pleasure is not in rushing
But in the leisure of the stay
Nor does he fill the glass
Swells lapping safely beneath the brim
Tavern lights tauntingly twinkle the empty crystal
Unsatisfied I push the chalice back
He holds my gaze
He holds my gaze
He holds my gaze
Floundering I draw the chalice back
Raising a toast
Or a white flag, I’m not so sure
He interrupts
‘To good health Ghafoor,
savour the sweet,
relish the heat
Make not haste but merely saunter
Keep your eyes on me not on the decanter
To good health Ghafoor’
His stinginess in the pour
Baffling for I knew not what for
Yet he was much wiser than I
That much I cannot deny
For here I sit
Struggling to take a sip
It was but one drop
But that one drop was a river
Barely breathing my lungs fill
The barkeeper takes the glass, forseeing the spill
‘You cannot traverse this stream yet you seek the ocean’
‘Seeking my peace though you drown in commotion’
‘A faithless heart yet you claim devotion’
With eyes growing heavy
Burdened by the shame my shoulders shuddered to bear
Waining before the barkeepers glare
The temple I entered now becomes my tomb
The tavern lamps slowly dance into the gloom
Tag: drink
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The Tavern
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