Rubaisms
* * *
Who can tell what might happen in a day?
What is to flourish, or wistfully decay?
It turns around, this random world of sorrow,
Where things may come, but with no chance to stay.
* * *
A third of me loves leisure, women and wine.
A third makes happy stars and faces shine.
A third writes poetry... But what about the others?
These thirds are yours, the major part are mine!
* * *
Be bright, or hard to find... It's all the same.
Keep on, or change you mind... It's all the same
Turn yourself inside out—it does not matter.
Whatever left behind, it's all the same.
* * *
Every birth like the first day of creation,
Every death like the worlds in devastation...
Like it or not, it thrills. And above all
The crazy pleasure of anticipation.
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