Omar Khayyam

There is a rumour in this house that I put off for tomorrow, what can best be done today !
 
Now the rights or wrongs of this statement ( I’m sure I don’t ) lead me to contend that we are all in too much of a rush, particularly after retirement, we carry the habits of a lifetime on into old age !
 
Usually the pressure was derived from within the working environment by another party who wished to develop their own career in some way or another.
 
As the doors of paid- employment bang shut behind us and we are cast out to pasture it seems very unfair that another sort of hierarchy is imposed.
 
The dreadful sound of a repeated mantra “what are you going to do today” or the equally dreadful, “have you looked at the *** yet“. There is no peace in the world.
 
Even the garden shed has a path to its door - there is no refuge.
 
Why must we be so busy. The weeds continue to grow, the paint will continue to peel as we poor souls draw closer to the final act.
 
These last years should be spent watching football on the tele, reading a book chatting to friends in the pub, relaxing, letting go - big sign DO NOT DISTURB !
 
Were all those years spent, confirming, there is no peace this side of the grave?
 
Old khayyam had it sussed
 
 
Awake for morning in the bowl of night
Has flung the stone that puts the start to flight
And low the Hunter of the East has caught
The sultans turret in a noose of light
 
Dreaming when dawns left-hand was in the sky
I heard a voice within the tavern cry
Awake my little ones and fill the cup
Before life's liquor in its cup be dry
 
And as the Cock crew those who stood before
The Tavern shouted open-then the door
You know how little time we have
And once departed may return no more
 
Come full the cup and in the fire of spring
The winter garments of repentance fling
The bird of time has but a little way to fly
And lo the bird is on the wing
 
A book of verse beneath the bough
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
Wilderness were Paradise enow.
 
How sweet is mortal sovereignty - think some
Others - How blest the Paradise to come
Ah, take the cash in hand and waive the rest
O the brave music of the distant drum.
 
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes - or it prospers and anon
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face
Lighting a little hour or two is gone
 
And we that now make merry in the room
They left, and summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the couch of earth
Descend, ourselves to make a couch - for whome
 
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
 
Alike for those who for tomorrow prepare
And those that after some tomorrow stare
A Muezzin from the tower of darkness cries
Fools your reward is neither Here nor There
O come with old Khayyam and leave the wise
To talk, one ting is certain, that life flies
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies
The flower that once has blown for ever dies

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and saint, and heard great argument
About it and about : but evermore
Came out by the same door as in I went.

With them the seed of wisdom did I sow
And with my own hand laboured it to grow
And this was all the harvest that I reap
I come like water, and like wind I go.

Into this Universe, and why not knowing
Nor whence like water willy-nilly flowing
And out of it, as wind along the waste
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

What without asking, hither hurried whence
And without asking, whither hurried hence
Another and another Cup to drown
The memory of this impertinence !