A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed,
cut holes in it, and called it a human being.
Since then, it has been wailing
a tender agony of parting,
never mentioning the skill
that gave it life as a flute.
Monday, March 7, 2011
4 comments:
At the request of a Rumi Reader, I have enabled comments, because I agree that someone, sometime might want to write about the power of Rumi's words. So many times they have met me in ways I just have to share, and so I want you to have that opportunity here. There is no expectation for comments, but please do write something if you feel the urge. ~ Ruth
We are flutes wailing in the wind. And what a glorious sound, Ruth.
ReplyDeleteI love what Elisabeth wrote. Lovely!
ReplyDeleteHmm, the gift that is unseen. A beautiful song.
ReplyDeleteTo become what we were created for, we must leave what we were. Some part of us will forever miss what once was and that's natural. But we must also respect what we now are in order to honor the craftsman that created us.
ReplyDelete