Saturday, February 23, 2013
Who is the luckiest in this whole orchestra? The reed.
Its mouth touches your lips to learn music.
All reeds, sugarcane especially, think only of this chance.
They sway in the canebrakes,
free in the many ways they dance.
Without you, the instruments would die.
One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss.
The tambourine begs, Touch my skin, so I can be myself.
Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone,
that what died last night can be whole today.
(in Rumi: The Big Red Book,
translated by Coleman Barks)
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