Best Cupbearer Poems
What are mental aberrations when in a deep state of meditation by focusing on rejecting all thoughts and senses, and allowing the body to exist autonomously?
To call them visions is to purely describe the minimalistic tangible visual evidence of the experience without regard to meaning and other sensual possibilities. In Genesis 40 of the Bible, Joseph was able to extract meaning from the visions of the baker and cupbearer while they share the same prison. The two men were unable to understand, as they were passively experiencing the visions.
However, to be your own Joseph would require an active experience of these visions. Is this possible? It is if you are actively receiving while in a state of nothingness.
All conflicts must be removed, including the anticipation and understanding of the origin of such experiences. Only when you profoundly receive clarity of understanding may you know their origin. Is the experience from God, Satan, you, someone, or something?
Theologists call this activity being in a state of prayer, or is it? What would you call it?
Now that you are on the Path of Kabir, what truths will you find?
Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
—?Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
by,
Martin Braun
3/17/2020
I serve with my heart, all
Your mountain must not fall
We meet servant and master
To run forward the faster
Your goal clearly defined
Mine too more refined
Leader and follower united now
To testify of forgiveness, the how
Why this unlikely pair?
Cause of a God just and fair
I serve before kings
Who drink of your wisdom things
I was a vessel empty, then
Now filled with your ken
They drink it in very slowly
The cupbearer thought he was most lowly
It is silent
Neon sulphuric mustard gas
It is the snare
Spilling poison, dropped chalice
You are the cupbearer
Drinking your holy communion
From ashes to rubble
I remember you
The smiling tiger
Roaring to the pounce
Fiercely tugging at life caught
Between your polished claws
Until the wall fell and celebration
We were selling bricks in bin liners
You can get up off your knees now
The table would have killed you anyway.
Saying unto her husband, have nothing to do with this just
Man for I suffered many things within a dream because of, Him..
Angels fall without You there ? Wondering what they these children
Thought when love's curtain it's veil rent; the heavens roared her earth
Quaked in trembling their, Spirits, fleeing for shelter crying unto Ancient's fiery
Gaze flames igniting time's, melting mountains ? Standing amid tomorrow's visions
Open arms embracing these barren branches; rushing winds this warmth lightning crashing ?
Cherubs weeping for joy chariots white robes sepulchers tombstones; imploding stars....
Zion, his cupbearer pleads; as her dagger bleeds a vintage creed ? Washing away perditions day.
Form:
A three branched vine grows
Blossoms ripen into grapes
Pressed and placed in the king's hand
The branches are days
Your office will be restored
King's cupbearer as before
Three baskets on head
Top one has food for the king
Birds eat from bottommost one
The baskets are days
The king will lift up your head
And the birds will eat your flesh
—————
These are the dreams of the cupbearer and the baker, told to Joseph while they were all in prison. Since the sedoka is supposed to use 2 sets of 3 lines to look at the same thing in two different ways, I thought perhaps the dream and its interpretation might work. There's not much room to work with, though!
(From Genesis 40)
Carry to the king full flagons of wine,
this is your handmaiden’s duty mercy divine
Free-flowing ambrosia nectar fruit
mixed with stolen, silk tears of satin soft slavery
Pear-shaped heartache plucked,
a yearning branch uprooted from the bloodline tree
Comely cupbearer of the golden chalice,
harem handmaiden —
pleasure prisoner in an opulent palace
Captive crown seed royal body,
not regarded as a mere serving waif
Always regal are your movements,
no courtesan behavior do you display
Crimson hair chosen handmaiden,
innocent flame bearer of a fiery virgin heart
Bring the cup of delight
to the king’s hand at his demand
Before his presence, he desires you to stand
Celestial clothed ... cerulean robed
Chrysanthemum chosen handmaiden,
cupbearer of the vessel that portends divinity
Perform your duties with eunuch grace,
showing forth to the ruling princes,
your unchained spirit of indomitable chastity
I love having—
hating the feeling of wanting.
Wanting cuts my guts as consequentially as diarrhea.
I steal casually,
like second breaths after waking,
or proper newborns latched onto Mama’s nipple.
It is inspired vice.
There’s a teaspoonful of buccaneering Barbarossa
sprinkled in my lines.
I commit careless crimes—
not much outside the magpie’s range.
I am the cupbearer at Mass now.
All men are wanting persistently.
Other men’s carelessness is providential,
inviting nosy rats to the quiet catwalk.
I collect on neglect,
underprized nuggets
that poke at my wonder,
scratching curiosities.
I stole wives off petty husbands,
decaying cars banked by roadways,
the overhanging fruit of fat landlords,
words from Webster’s to ennoble intellect,
thoughts from tinkers;
Christ’s reflection—but the mirror stole it back.
Psych docs lower me on leather beds,
wanting to safe-crack my mystery.
I tell them Barbarossa blood ties tarnish, birth bandits.
Shrinkers countdown—
ten, nine, eight...
I am paroled to a fantasy field of rare, clean earth, of no lack.
There is my First mother.
She is a beauty queen.
Me, unseen.
She is careless,
drawn by luster.
I yell, spoiled apples!
Me, unheard.
She tastes.
She calls my First father to probe the coveted yield.
I am bidden too.
I eat.
Theirs is mine.
A primordial gift is constant craving.
My Destiny
Oh God! Look at my destiny page plain
Why separation is written time and again
Her Conversation
She avoids conversation,
But I want confabulation.
Your Complain
Your eyes' tear come out of my eyes,
You still complain, we don't love you.
My Enjoyments
The whole enjoyments stolen by distillery,
My eyes were complained by cupbearer.
Her Beauty
She seems more beautiful,
When she talks in delightful.
Cry Like Me
Without having a redchalk like me,
Cry without exposit your eyes like me.
Birds Kiss My Hands
The birds come to kiss my hands,
There is someone who skeans my words.
My Story
I can't think anybody else you,
My story just ends upon you.
Your Silence
Your silence pained me,
Your regardless smacked me.
Your Collator
Some of your collator was infidel,
Some of I wanted to be corruptful.
Your Secrets
I can burst your secrets in my heart,
And if you want I can make a fiction.
Human Tempore
Once such tempore arrives,
A smile also becomes revile.
An Ungroved Heart
If a heart can't settle, destroy it,
If can't become grove, Wald it.
Your Felon
People will die on you, besides me also,
If this is coercer, then monad the felon too.
My Smile
Smile never came tolerance,
Every laugh made occurrence.
My Opponent
Why doesn't the divine-day awake?
Before me, she is sitting with fake.
O cupbearer, fill my cup once more,
My beloved has left, taking my heart and dreams,
To roam the hills with the deer,
To delight them with my words and melodies.
To show them through my poems what my tongue cannot express,
I said, “O cupbearer, fill my cup with spiritual wine,
Upon parting with my beloved, I drink the bitter potion.”
Now he frolics with them near the valleys,
And I hum to the sound of breaking vessels,
To inhabit dreams built on my illusions.
Fill, O cupbearer, the cup until I forget my place,
Upon parting with my beloved, I got drunk until my eyes close,
So I forget who I am and who they are, even if it takes a while.
He has gone, leaving his mark on the memories of my times.
When I am intoxicated, I rise beyond myself, like fragrance escaping from a blooming flower.
My heart, burdened by sorrow, lifts itself high, like a flower breaking free from the confines of a grave.
I leave behind my heavy, lifeless body,
And soar on the wings of boundless imagination. I traverse the skies, reaching the seventh heaven,
Seeking fountains of life and radiant homes of light.
I have no need for the wine of the cupbearer. I follow the path of my galloping thoughts. It thrives on colors of vibrant existence.
This ecstasy, this love, this beauty, this allure. When I gaze into the eyes of my beloved,It feels as though I steal light from every gesture.
I fill my cup with the hues of twilight my eyes reddened by the intoxication of their beauty. How futile a life you have lived, O preacher, blind to the flame of longing and search.
You bowed to rituals, chose hollow scholars, while the soil of shattered dreams remained untouched.
Like a candle melting in its own flame, yet never transforming into sweet nectar or bliss. The heart stayed chained by the weight of reason, never soaring, never opening to the spring's embrace.
Your life has ended, your quest is over, O seeker. Exhausted, your weary head rests in the earth's cradle.
Like a flower’s fleeting scent, brief in its glory, or a river’s waves vanishing into the vastness of the sea.
Seven cows, fat and plump,
Feeding in the reed grass,
Emerging from the Nile.
Seven cows, ugly, thin,
Stood beside for a while,
Swallowing the fat cows up!
Seven ears, plump and good,
All growing on one stalk.
Seven ears, blighted, thin,
Swallowing the good ears up!
Spirit troubled, king awoke,
Called his wise and magic men:
What does this dream mean, then?
Cupbearer then recalled,
“A young man in prison,
With the baker and with me,
Interpreted our dreams.”
Then the king fetched Joseph
And shared his dreams with him,
Asked him what they might mean.
Seven cows, fat and plump
Seven cows, ugly, thin
Fat cows get swallowed up!
Seven ears, plump and good
Seven ears, blighted, thin
Plump ears get swallowed up!
Then Joseph told the king,
“Your dreams are both the same,
They reveal what God will do.”
Seven good cows and ears,
Ample crop, bounty years.
Withered cows, blighted ears,
Bad drought and famine years.
Dreams like this come in twos,
Leaving little time to choose.
Famine soon, and severe.
Hurry now to prepare,
A man of God can help you.
The king was much impressed,
Also, was much distressed.
“We need a man of God.
All this, He revealed, yes?
Can you help save Egypt?”
Joseph was then set free;
He became the king’s right hand,
Set up the granaries,
The Lord then saved them all.
(from Genesis 41)
... First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will be able to see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye.
~Matthew 7: 5 GNT
If you want to stop fascism
check in the mirror,
make sure you're not the one
being cupbearer!