Listen to the story told by the reed
of being separated.
Since I was cut from the reed bed
I have made this crying sound.
Anyone separated from someone he loves
understands what I say:
Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.
At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing
and the grieving, a friend to each.
But few will hear the secrets
hidden
within
the notes.
No ears for that.
Body flowing
out of Spirit.
Spirit flowing from body.
No concealing that mixing,
But it’s not given us
to see the soul.
The reed flute is fire, not wind.
Be that empty.
Hear the love-fire tangled in the notes
as bewilderment melts into wine.
The reed is hurt and salve combining.
Intimacy
and longing for intimacy,
one song.
A disastrous surrender
and a fine love,
together.
Rumi
