The Drained Cup A Sufi Poem Poem by Daniel Brick

I have been sober for three months.
In the first month I forgot
the sweetness of wine when served
with grapes and figs in an afternoon
feast of song and dance,
with the face of the Beloved flashing
before each man's sight continually.
In the second month, the fumes of wine
drunk by other men no longer excited me.
I listened as they praised their beloveds,
becoming more hyperbolic with each glass
they quaffed. I remained obdurate, unmoved
by the grace that swirled over them,
as they talked, no, sang of their passions.
Time slowed to a crawl, its colors so bright,
so crystalline, faded until the very notion
of color was foreign to me. Now, the third month
begins, and I am an empty flask, a drained cup,
a vagrant who neither sleeps nor dreams.
I walk constantly day and night, I am a victim
of hunger. Oh, this hunger in our deepest selves
for the one true beloved, the one who points
the way and is already standing there at the end
to greet us with open arms. Such is the beloved
who lives and dies a thousand times for our happiness.
I was confused when my beloved died and did not revive.
Confused and angry. I stopped praying, and singing
and dancing, and drinking the numinous wine...
Oh, Daniel, look at your sorry condition.
You lost faith in God's grace, then in his gift.
Return to the tavern, poet, and wait.
Drink wine, and prepare yourself!

June 10,2016