Song of the Reed By Mowlana Jalaluddin Rumi Translated by A.Z.

Foreman

Listen now to the reed flute trilling tales Of separation. Hear the way it wails:

"Since I was hewn from Reedland, I've begun weeping with humankind in unison.

I seek torn bosoms. To them I explain How I am torn from my love, torn in pain.

All things uprooted from the land remain Athirst for union with the source again.

In every league of life, I sang my pangs, Both among happy crowds and hapless gangs.

Their own thoughts were the thing they loved me for. They would not seek the secret that I bore.

My secret was not separate from my cries But was sequestered from mere ears and eyes.

Not soul from skin nor skin from soul is sealed Yet none may ever see the soul revealed.

Not wind, but fire blows song through my piped heart. May all who lack that fire be blown apart.

The fire that makes the reed repine is love. The ferment ripening the wine is love."

This reed flute soothes all sundered lovers' pain. True minds need not refrain from its refrain.

What poison ever cures beside the reed's?

What crazed love reassures beside the reed's?

This reed flute trills tales of a love-obsessed Madman of legend on his bloodstained quest.

The lovelost find the meaning here alone. That tongue speaks to a certain ear alone.

As days slipped off to evenings in our sorrow We burned and yearned through every hot tomorrow.

But though the days slip off, You will endure And matter more, Inimitably Pure.

Only the fish forever drink the seas. A life by bread alone brings longer days.

No raw mind can see through a ripe mind's eye, So let us talk no more of this. Goodbye.