Rosewater Wash

Watch the video

Here is an edit of the first poem, from my father's grave:
I said "Father, this is not the way for such greatness to end."
He replied, "How should it be? This is destined."
I said, "Yet, it is much too soon for your departure."
He said, "No, Truth's wisdom declares when is best."

**In the last line, the first translation uses the word “God” rather than “Truth”—The word that is actually used is “Hagh”, which means “Truth” or “God,” as the multiple meanings may be used interchangeably.

The second poem (where you see the bird picking up the poetry), which is also being read from the wake (in the beginning of the video) is from the first eighteen lines of the Masnavi of Jalâl al-Din Rumi. The video is only showing what is from the first line of Rumi's Masnavi. There are many translations, though I particularly like this translation of the Reed Flute's Song, from Essential Rumi by Coleman Barks:

The Reed Flute's Song
by Jalalu'ddin Rumi, excerpted from Coleman Barks' translation in The Essential Rumi

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

"Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it's not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty."

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn't want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it's best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.