Flowing Wine

Oh, Friend! Confuse me no more!
The heady cup you serve delights both mind and senses:
The world is blurred.

Tell me, who holds the cup,
You or my own hand?

Inner and outer are become the same.
Does the wine pour from your cup,
Or my heart?

If from my heart, the mystery grows unfathomed,
For a river must flow from here to there,
Or upstream to downstream,
Else the melting snow of the mountain heights,
Feeding falling streams,
Full of spring’s graceful promise,
Were one with the brooding sea,
Wherein all streams, growing from brook to broad river,
Having run their course,
Do merge.

Ah! Therein lies the answer!
The wine flows from cup to cup,
And two hearts beat as in one breast!

— Bhai Din