Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Listen to how this flute complains
Telling us tales of separations,
“Ever since I was cut from the reedbed
men and women have moaned from my cry
I seek one whose heart is torn with separation
So I can tell them the tale of the pain of longing.
Whoever is left far from their source
Will seek again the day of reunion
I empathized with many groups
I paired with the happy and the sad
Each befriended me from their angle
But none sought out the secret within me
You will find my secret not far from my cry
Yet they haven’t that light, the ear and eye
Body and soul can’t be hidden long from each other
Yet people have no command over this inner vision
The sound of the flute is not from wind, but fire
May those without this fire; cease to exist!
It is the fire of love that fell in the flute
It is the bubbling of love that fell into wine
The flute’s a companion to those parted with a friend
Whose veils have cut asunder our own veils
Who has seen poison and antidote in one, like the flute?
Who has seen a companion and eager friend like the flute?
The flute tells a tale of a much bloodied way
Tells us stories of insane love
The confidant of this awareness is no-awareness
the tongue’s best customer is the ear
In our sorrow; the days go by
The days are coupled with painful longing
Tell the passing days, “Go, I have no fear!”
stay with me– besides whom there is none pure