Day 818

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The Tale of the Reed Flute by Rumi

Listen to the reed flute and its tale.

Complaining of separation:

Since they cut me off from the bed of reeds

Men and women lament the sound of my cry.

Due to separation, I want chests torn to shreds

To describe the pain of desire

Anyone distant from his origins

Will seek to return to them.

Lamenting at every gathering,

I am the friend of both

The happy and the unhappy

Each believes himself to be my friend,

Yet none searches for my secrets.

My secret is not far from my lamentation,

Yet my eyes and ears do not have that light.

2 thoughts on “Day 818

  1. “Man is only a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed. There is no need for the whole universe to take up arms to crush him: a vapour, a drop of water is enough to kill him. but even if the universe were to crush him, man would still be nobler than his slayer, because he knows that he is dying and the advantage the universe has over him. The universe knows none of this.”

    ― Blaise Pascal, Pensées
    L’homme est un roseau pensant…

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