I am drunk with the wine of Thy love...

I am drunk with the wine of Thy love, so from such a drunkard Don't ask for the sober counsel of a man of the world. Dey 1365 AHS [December-January 1986/87] Explanation In this poem, as in the previous poem, Imam Khomeini may be playing with different facets of his own personality. He was famous for his speeches, some of which have been translated by Hamid Algar in Islam and Revolution (Berkeley: Mizan Press, 1981), yet in this poem he protests that he is not to be asked for an oration.

He is a philosopher and theologian, yet he cautions that one should not turn to him for philosophical insight. He is a cleric who has written a famous commentary on forty sayings of the Prophet, a partial translation of which has been published as Forty Hadiths: An Exposition of Ethical and Mystical Traditions, Part 1 (Tehran: Islamic Propagation Organization, 1989).[^2] All of this is superceded by his inner life as a mystic lover. The language used to express this is that of Hafiz.

The tavern, kharabat, may also be brothel or gaming house. In the tradition of Hafiz, it is the place of mystical ecstacy, where the 'wine,' the love of God, is served. The Beloved, yar, or friend/companion, is commonly taken to indicate God. The languid eye, cheshm-e bimar, literally sick eye, is used for the seductive languid eye of a mistress, and this genre of poetry is understood to mean the spiritual attraction of the divine.

The 'sick eye' of the intoxicated beloved is half-closed, disdainful. The wandering dervish mentioned in the poem is a Qalandar, an itinerant dervish with a reputation for being something of a rogue. Hikmat, literally wisdom, has the technical meaning of a kind of philosophical theology or theosophy. Life’s Caravan My life has reached its end, but yet, my Friend has not come.

My story now concludes; but conclusion to this pain has not come The goblet of death is at hand, yet I never had my turn at the goblet of wine. The years have come and gone, but a sweetheart's tenderness has not come.

The bird of my spirit's been trapped, and, fallen without wings to fly, is confined to this cage, Yet she who should set me free, who should break apart this cage, has not come.[^3] The lovers of a darling face are all nameless and without vestige While for those of fame, even a whiff of the air of her affection has not come. In rank and file of the caravan of the lovers of her face, they wait expectantly.