Chalice of Duality

Lambent, golden hued reflection,

The glossy liquid that lets the gush of blistering heat till the entrails,

All the while soaking the parched throat,

Giving a tinge of the strong flavor and tantalizing for more,

In a piecemeal manner, drop by drop, sip by sip, quaff by quaff, pint by pint.

It calms yet agitates,

Soothes yet disturbs,

Is a soporific, yet keeps you awake till dawn,

Relaxes the mind, yet keeps the grey matter ticking,

Helps shed inhibition yet makes you more conscious.

Fuels loquaciousness, yet keeps a premium on silent cogitation.

Turns you animatedly gregarious, yet a splendid loner,

Euphoric but with seeds of melancholia.

An absurdist aloof from everything, yet some who believes he has skin-in-the-game in everything,

It's not all about the pendulum of personality shades,

Or the unexpected switch from taciturn to prolix,

Neither about the vacillations of a mind under the influence,

Or a hankering down the the memory lane,

Meanwhile, stimulating the entheos with a feeble spark,

This duality is not in Adaivata, Zen, Kaizen or any other spiritual exercise,

but in your tumbler of whisky,

If you make it sacrosanct,

For where else could this paradoxical interplay of contradictions be found?