Listen to the story of the reed

As it laments the pain of separation:

Since they have cut me from my reed bed

My wails bring tears to both woman and man

Those ripped away from their beloved

know my song

Having been cut from the source,

they long to return

In celebrations,  I laugh with those laughing

And in sadness, I cry with those grieving

The divine secrets are not separate from my cries

But only those who are cooked in the fire of love will hear them

These secrets are for the heart, not for eyes or ears

It is fire, not wind that makes me sing!

If you don’t have this fire,

you might as well be dead

Oh, how can the uncooked

know the majesty of the fire of love?

If you meet the uncooked,

don’t sing, don’t preach

Instead listen to my advice:

Say goodbye and leave