HEARKEN to the FluTe! (The tale of Love of GOD)(Rumi)

Hearken to the reed-flute how it complains

lamenting it's banishment from its home.
"Ever since they tore me from my osier bed,
my plaintive notes have moved men and women to tears.
I burst my breast striving to give vent to sighs,
And to express the pangs of my yearning for my home.
He who abides far away from his home
Is ever longing for the day he shall return.
My wailing is heard in every throng,
in concert with them that rejoice and them that weep,
each interprets my notes in harmony with his own feelings,
but no one fathoms the secrets of my heart.
My secrets are not alien from my plaintive notes,
yet they are not manifest to the sensual eye and ear
Body is not veiled from soul, neither soul from body.
Yet no man has ever seen a soul!"
This plaint of the flute is fire, not mere air
let him who lacks this fire be accounted dead!
'Tis the fire of Love that inspires the flute
"Tis the ferment of love that possesses the wine!
The flute is the confidant of all unhappy lovers
Yea, it's strains lay bare my inmost secrets.
Who has seen a poison and an antidote like a flute?
Who has seen a sympathetic consoler like the flute?
The flute tells the tale of the lovers bloodstained path,
It recounts the story of Majnun's love toils.
None is privy to these feelings save one distracted,
As ear inclines to the whisper of the tongue.
Through grief my days are as labor and sorrow,
My days move on hand in hand with anguish.
Yet though my days vanish thus 'tis no matter,
Do thou abide Oh Incomparable Pure One!
But All who are not fishes are soon tired of water;
And they who lack daily bread find the day very long!
So the "RAW" comprehend not the state of the "RIPE"
therefore it behoves me to shorten my discourse.
Arise O son! Burst your bonds and be free!
How long wilt thou be captive to silver and Gold?
Though Thy pour the ocean into thy pitcher
it can hold no more than one day's store.
The pitcher of the desire of the covetous never fills,
The oyster shell fills not with the pearls till it is content;
Only he whose garment is rent with the violence of love
is wholly pure from covetousness and sin.
Hail to thee, then, OH LOVE, Sweet madness!
Thou who healest all our infirmities
Who art the healer of our pride and self-conceit
Who art our Plato and Galen!
Love exalts our earthly bodies to heaven

And makes the very hills to dance with joy!

Oh Lover! 'twas love that gave life to Mount Sinai!
When "it quaked and Moses fell down in a swoon"
He who is parted from them who speak their tongue
Though he possess a voice is perforce dumb
When the rose has faded and the garden has withered
The song of the nightingale is no longer to be heard
The BELOVED is all in all, the Lover only veils Him
The Beloved is all that lives, The lover a dead thing.
When the lover feels no longer the LOVE's quickening
He becomes like a bird that has lost it's wings. Alas!
How can I retain my senses about me?
When the BELOVED shows not the Light of His Countenance?
Love desires that this secret should be revealed,
For if a mirror reflects not, of what use is it?
Khowest thou why thy mirror reflects not?
Because the rust has not been scoured from it's face
If it was purified from all rust and defilement,
It would reflect the shining of GOD's light!
Oh Friends you have now heard this tale!
Which sets forth the very essence of my case!

(Jelaluddin Rumi)