Velasquez (Sevilla 1599-1660 Madrid) Tavern scene
Heed all ye tipplers merry
as ye guzzle the brew
tagging it as mere spirit,
to inebriation, the magic within
disbursed to careless disregard
For that which ye tipple with,
is wine…
And what’s wine?
Nothing more than grape
Once turgid, with hope tumescent
Delicate, passionate
Then plucked, pillaged
Crushed and abused
Brought to an untimely demise!
Thence left constrained, confined
to the ferments of its threnody
and to the ministrations of Time.
Till it forsakes the memories
of its miseries, its dreams, its individuality
to be an anima anew, flow again with life
A spirit which sings the paean
Of the land, the season, the charms
of a year, for now it’s all
which once it was not,
an encapsulation of a period
brought about by
the alchemist, which is Time
So the next time ye silent sip
the ambrosia which engages
all ye senses, listen…
and ye may hear Bacchus’ ditty
of how Time is the greatest healer of all
and how one can be more
than one’s demise, a soul
and sing forever the song
which is the love of Time!
- a