The Reed Flute
The Poem by Molana The song by Ostad Mahwash
Pay heed to the
grievances of the reed
Of what divisive
separations breed
From the reedbed
cut away just like a weed
My music people
curse, warn and heed
Sliced to pieces
my bosom and heart bleed
While I tell
this tale of desire and need.
Whoever who fell
away from the source
Will seek and
toil until returned to course
Of grievances
I sang to every crowd
Befriended both
the humble and the proud
Each formed
conjecture in their own mind
As though to
my secrets they were blind
My secrets are
buried within my grief
Yet to the eye
and ear, that’s no relief
Body and soul
both unveiled in trust
Yet sight of
soul for body is not a must.
The flowing
air in this reed is fire
Extinct, if
with passion won’t inspire
Fire of love
is set upon the reed
Passion of love
this wine will gladly feed
Reed is match
for he who love denied
Our secrets
unveiled, betrayed, defied.
Who has borne
deadly opium like the reed?
Or lovingly
to betterment guide and lead?
Of the bloody
path, will tell many a tale
Of Lover’s love,
even beyond the veil.
None but the
fool can hold wisdom dear
Who will care
for the tongue if not ear?
In this pain,
of passing days we lost track
Each day carried
the pain upon its back
If days pass,
let them go without fear
You remain,
near, clear, and so dear.
Only the fish
will unquenchingly thirst,
Surely passing
of time, the hungry curst.
State of the
cooked is beyond the raw
The wise in
silence gladly withdraw.
Cut the chain
my son, and release the pain
Silver rope
and golden thread, must refrain
If you try to
fit the ocean in a jug
How small will
be your drinking mug?
Never filled,
ambitious boy, greedy girl,
Only if satisfied,
oyster makes pearl.
Whoever lovingly
lost shirt on his back
Was cleansed
from greed and wanton attack
Rejoice in our
love, which would trade
Ailments, of
every shade and every grade
With the elixir
of self-knowing, chaste
With Hippocratic
and Galenic taste.
Body of dust
from love ascends to the skies
The dancing
mountain thus begins to rise
It was the love
of the Soul of Mount Sinai
Drunken mountain,
thundering at Moses, nigh.
If coupled with
those lips that blow my reed
Like the reed
in making music I succeed;
Whoever away
from those lips himself found
Lost his music
though made many a sound.
When the flower
has withered, faded away
The canary in
praise has nothing to say.
All is the beloved,
the lover is the veil
Alive is the
beloved, the lover in death wail
Fearless love
will courageously dare
Like a bird
that’s in flight without a care
How can I be
aware, see what’s around,
If there is
no showing light or telling sound?
Seek the love
that cannot be confined
Reflection in
the mirror is object defined.
Do you know
why the mirror never lies?
Because keeping
a clean face is its prize.
Friends, listen
to the tale of this reed
For it is the
story of our life, indeed!
Shahriar Shahriari
Vancouver, Canada
April 27, 1998
© Shahriar Shahriari 1998, Vancouver Canada, 1999 -
2001, Los Angeles, CA
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