In the forest there is neither flock nor shepherd
When winter walks, it follows its distinct course as spring does
Men were born slaves to those who reject submission
If one day he gets up, shows them the way, they will walk with him
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the pasture of minds
And the wailing of the flute lasts longer than flocks and shepherds

In the forest there is no ignorant or wise
person When the branches shake, no one reveres
Human knowledge is illusory like the fog of the fields
that fades when the sun rises on the horizon
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the best knowledge,
and the flute's lament survives the twinkling of the stars.

In the forest there is only memory of the loving
Those who dominated the world and oppressed and conquered,
their names are like letters of the names of criminals
Conqueror among us is the one who knows how to love
Give me the flute and sing!
And forget the injustice of the oppressor
For the lily is a cup for dew and not for blood

In the forest there is no critic or sensor
If gazelles are disturbed when they see a companion,
the eagle does not say: 'How strange' Wise among us is the one who judges
strange only what is strange Ah, give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the best madness and the lament of the flute survives the thoughtful and the rational.

In the forest there are no free men or slaves
All glories are as vain as bubbles in water
When the almond tree throws its flowers on the hawthorn,
it does not say: 'He is contemptible and I am a great lord'
Give me the flute and sing!
That the song is true glory and the flute's lament survives the noble and the vile

In the forest there is no strength or fragility
When the lion roars they do not say: 'He is fearsome'
The human will is but a shadow that wanders in the space
of thought and the rights of men wither like autumn leaves
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the strength of the spirit and the flute's lament survives the fading of the suns

In the forest there is no death or trouble
Joy does not die when spring is gone
The terror of death is a chimera that insinuates itself in the heart
For whoever lives a spring is as if he has lived centuries
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the secret of eternal life and the flute's lament will remain after existence ends.

Poem: Kalil Gibran

Art: Josephine Wall

Flauta Nativa Ashar