Flute Of The Hills

Have you not heard the little silent steps? It comes, comes, ever comes to the little reed flutes that sit over the dale and hill and when the wind blows they all dance to the rhythm in truest joy.

Their hearts loses limit and give rise to utterance ineffable. What they desire is the subtlety of being, they sing unheard songs that will break any pride, and when I look upon them my face get a fresh countenance.

The rainy season is at the peak and I hear the sighs and murmur of the grumbling sky, the birds are playing their minstrels at the court of the flowering plants. I sit quietly watching them in overflowing leisure.

Pluck this white rose and take it, if delayed it will dry and fall into the dust. It may not fill a place in your life, but honor it with a touch from your hand. Though it’s color may not be too deep and it’s smell faint, use it as an offering and temporal adornment.

Set out to the river side and let languid hours pass by on the shore. The waves are becoming clamorous and upon the bank of the shady lane the almond leaves flutter and fall. What wonders do I gaze upon! I feel a thrill passing through the air with notes of a faraway song coming from a raven.

When the day is done and birds sing no more, when the wind has flagged tired and a veil of darkness cover the sky; the beauty of the night shine from above when the day clouds are past memories, with the softest beams of light.

Obstinate are the trammels, and my hands bleed whenever I try to break them! Freedom is all I want and in hope for it I feel no shame. I am certain that priceless wealth are in these shells but I have not the intention to sweep away the tinsel and fill my room.

Prisoner, tell me what is it that bound you? You thought you could outdo everyone in the world with power and fame; amassing in treasure money due to a king. But when sleep overcame and you awoke, you found yourself a prisoner to the treasure store.

Prisoner, tell me who was it that wrought these unbreakable chains? It was you who wrought this chain very carefully. Day and night you worked at the chain with monstrous cravings and when at last the desires were fulfilled, you found it held you in its grips.

The sky is fiercely naked_ not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud, not the vaguest hint of a cool shower. Where is the angry storm with lashes of lightening that will startle the sky from end to end. Where is the cloud of grace and mercy to bend low from above like the closeness of a lover to the beloved.

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