The colors of tulips and roses are not the same.
Yet in each we see the essence of the single Spring.
We turn our hands to the sketchbook only for Love.
Needing some pretext for meeting.
What sorry man drinks for pleasure?
Night and day, I raise oblivion's glass.
In the hour of forgetfulness, the head lies by the wine-jar;
In the hour of prayer, the face turns to the Call.
However the world's goblet turns........
....those who know ....
....are always drunk on the wine of the Self.
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