(no subject)
The cry of the reed is fire, not wind,
Whoso does not possess this fire may he be naught.
The reed is the comrade of whoever has become severed from a friend,
Its strains have rent asunder our veils.
The confident of this consciousness is none other than the
unconscious. For the tongue has no client save the ear.
In our sorrow the days of our life become unseasonable,
The days have become fellow travelers of burning grief.
The state of the ripe, none who is raw understands,
Hence brief my words must be. Farewell.
-Jalaluddin Rumi
Whoso does not possess this fire may he be naught.
The reed is the comrade of whoever has become severed from a friend,
Its strains have rent asunder our veils.
The confident of this consciousness is none other than the
unconscious. For the tongue has no client save the ear.
In our sorrow the days of our life become unseasonable,
The days have become fellow travelers of burning grief.
The state of the ripe, none who is raw understands,
Hence brief my words must be. Farewell.
-Jalaluddin Rumi