Vineyards in full bloom
And no sight of those steeped in gloom
Watered down troubles
No match for evanescent bubbles
Thronging those drinking halls
Thoughts seeking to break down walls
Longing for freedom to savor sensory delights
Fearing the end of the festival of lights
And treasures that are alien to the wise
Who are careful not to surmise
That tears of a grape
Provide an easy escape
What they drink is unknown
To those with hearts of stone
Unable to enter a wise one’s paradise
Even with a clever disguise
A stone’s throw from the truth
But miles away believing the wrong azimuth
Our sight is spared
Even if our vision is impaired
Failing to notice the quiet hill
On which rambling voices spill
Trying to solve life’s unique problem
Carried on every face like an emblem
Seeking solace from a grape
One imagines an escape
Unless the linen are washed clean
The eye cannot glean
Glimpses of the vineyard
That has always been in one’s backyard
Those vines now a disorderly mess
With thoughts traded like pawns in a game of chess
One can easily squeeze a grape
Hard to restore its distorted shape
It is drunk as an elixir
By mind that writes its own scripture
In praise of the vine
That makes the senses align
Exploring a land that is foreign
Where the ego may be made sovereign
That kingly ego takes a cowardly stance
Risking nothing in life’s game of chance
It’s the last one standing
Fighting and demanding
Seeking a world for itself
Not wanting to share life’s glass shelf
Even in the face of death
Only leaving with the last breath
The vineyard’s harvest may be bottled
But its essence cannot be annulled
Grapes ripe or not live off the root
That’s embedded in the truth
- N. Seshadri
