Monday, November 7, 2016

The Song of the Reed Flute by Rumi

Uzak Yollardan-ahraz

The Song of the Reed Flute

Listen, how this flute complains;
how it tells of separation.
It says: Ever since they cut me from my reedy bed,
men have cried and wailed when I cried—and women too.

I want a heart wounded by separation,
so I can tell the pain of longing.
He who is cut off from his essence looks
for the time of reunion.

I wept and moaned in every gathering,
with the well-off and the poor.
Everyone in his own way became my friend;
no one wondered about the secrets I have inside of me.

My secret is no different from what I cry aloud;
but the light to understand it is not found
in the eye or in the ear.

The body is not hidden from the soul,
nor is the soul a secret to the body;
yet no one is permitted to see the soul.

The voice of the flute is fire, not wind;
whoever does not have that fire inside him, let him leave us.
The fire of love has struck the flute; the frenzy of love has
struck the wine.

The flute is one of a pair separated from a friend,
and it is that friend; it has torn the curtains,
it has ripped away our veils.

The flute speaks of a path full of blood;
it also tells the story of Majnun's crazed love.

Who has seen a poison like the flute,
or a cure like the flute?
Who has seen a breath-companion like the flute,
or anyone who yearns like the flute?

The secret of this knowing is no different from not-knowing;
the tongue’s only customer is the ear.

The days have passed in sorrow, and become nights;
the days of fire became my travelling companions,
then burned away.

If the days pass and go, say this:
Pass, go, we have no fear.
You,friend, stay.
Nothing matches you for purity.

Everyone gets their fill of water except the fish;
for those without their daily bread the day lengthens
and gets longer.

The unripe have no understanding of the ripe; none at all.
That being the case, it’s best to cut words short—Fare thee we.

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