Omar Khayyam (1048-1131), Rubaiyat
Oh, the lures of faith, like the shelter of day from the unfolding night,
Have beguiled even the very best of our humble kind.
But even the most alluring of these can be outvied
By a parsimoniously inductive, non-parochial mind.
The beauty of a flower, the elegance of its leaves
The way it drifts to oblivion in the gentlest breeze
Rejoicing in the finite, for finite is just what this is,
Duly portrayed by a mathematician’s rigour and a poet’s lyrics.
A man of reason, is a man of reason, is a man of reason.
May the facts about those delusions still lie far away in the horizon,
He will unearth the truth, shatter the walls of his idiosyncratic prison.
For the man of reason, unlike the man of unreason, is a suspicious denizen.
A millenium on, the lies persist, the liars dictate the law,
Flowers faded, many excrements shone since thou,
But, oh Khayyam, dear soul, a rare treat this world ever saw
The flowers that you aptly sow, shall, in fact, never cease to blow.