Omar’s Dream
🌿 The Lotus Eater — Tu Kaun, Main Khwāb Kha
(a dream of Omar Khayyam and Bopa Rai)
And so it happened—
living in the dream world of Omar Khayyam,
who could not think beyond his toes,
for he had this heap of dreams
that he devoured every day.
Toes were distant things
when God was your conversational partner.
Omar spoke:
“Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End.”
He had argued with angels over cups of red light,
and laughed when the stars dropped their veils.
To him, paradise was not a promise,
but a pause between two draughts of time.
“Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling;
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.”
And then, silence —
as if even eternity took a breath.
He stopped and asked:
“How come I am so far from my friend?
Not by walking — only by evolving,
or perhaps devolving.
Where am I? Who am I?”
The moon, startled,
spilled her silver down his goblet.
The wine rippled — and for an instant,
he saw his reflection turn to God,
and God turn back into dust.
✨ Bopa Rai’s Reflection
Perhaps, thought Bopa,
it was never about the journey outward,
but the slow returning inward —
the drift from carbon to consciousness,
from silence to speech and back again.
He, too, had spoken with unseen partners
in wards where the heart faltered and rose again.
He, too, had asked:
not where is God? — but where am I?
The answer came, not in thunder,
but as the pulse under his own fingers:
that we are all evolving echoes,
half dream, half memory,
each o