Rumi’s Second Verse Unveiled: The Reed’s Lament and Our Eternal Longing

By Arasp Kazemian (Araspus)
Published: [Insert Date]
Categories: Spirituality, Poetry, Persian Culture, Music, Philosophy

Introduction: Why Rumi’s Poetry Endures

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic, remains one of the most celebrated literary figures in history. His six-volume masterpiece, the Masnavi, is a spiritual odyssey that explores the soul’s journey through love, loss, and divine connection. In this article, we dive into the second verse of the Masnavi, as illuminated by Arasp Kazemian (Araspus) in his YouTube video, “Rumi’s Poetry in Masnavi – Verse 2” (watch here). Here, Rumi uses the haunting metaphor of the reed flute (ney) to express the universal human experience of separation and longing—a theme that resonates as powerfully today as it did 800 years ago.

This SEO-optimized exploration will unpack the verse’s meaning, delve into the symbolism of the reed, examine the role of music and language in Rumi’s work, and reflect on its relevance in our modern, often disconnected world. Expect a blend of Araspus’s insights, historical context, and my own interpretations, all woven into a narrative designed to enlighten and inspire.

The Reed’s Cry: A Metaphor for the Soul

What Is the Reed Flute (Ney)?

In the Masnavi’s second verse, Rumi writes:

“Since they separated me from the reedbed,
Men and women cried with my moan.”

The ney, a traditional Persian reed flute, is the heart of this imagery. As Araspus explains, the reed begins its life in the reedbed—a lush, natural home near rivers—before being cut, hollowed, and crafted into an instrument. When breath flows through it, the ney produces a mournful, soul-stirring sound. This isn’t mere music; it’s a lament, a cry that echoes the pain of separation.

The ney’s physical emptiness is key. “There’s nothing inside the reed—it’s empty,” Araspus notes. This hollowness allows it to sing, mirroring the Sufi belief that emptying oneself of ego and worldly desires creates space for divine presence. The reed, then, becomes a powerful symbol of the human soul: fragile, uprooted, yet capable of profound expression.

The Reedbed (Neyestan): Our Lost Home

The reedbed, or Neyestan in Persian, represents the soul’s origin—a place of unity and belonging. Rumi mourns his separation from this primal home, a sentiment Araspus interprets as a longing for eternity. “Rumi thinks he was separated from eternity,” he says, “and that’s why he complains about being dropped into this world.” The reed’s removal from the Neyestan parallels our own existential displacement, a theme that threads through Rumi’s poetry and speaks to the human condition across cultures.

Separation and Longing: Rumi’s Universal Theme

Rumi’s Personal and Spiritual Loss

Rumi’s life was marked by profound separation, most notably the loss of his spiritual companion, Shams of Tabriz, whose disappearance in 1247 catalyzed much of his poetic output. This personal grief infuses the Masnavi with an authenticity that transcends time. In the second verse, the reed’s moan reflects Rumi’s own yearning—not just for Shams, but for the divine unity he felt Shams embodied.

Araspus suggests that Rumi views this world as a temporary exile from eternity. “When I die, I start living in eternity again,” he quotes Rumi, highlighting the poet’s belief in an afterlife where separation ends. This longing isn’t despairing; it’s transformative, urging us to see our pain as a bridge to something greater.

Awakening Others Through the Reed’s Moan

The ney’s sound has a ripple effect. As Rumi writes, “men and women cried with my moan.” Araspus explains: “When other people understand the sadness of this music, they understand their own separation as well.” The reed’s lament awakens listeners to their own hidden loneliness—a loneliness often masked by daily distractions like work, family, or material pursuits. Rumi, through his poetry and the ney’s voice, becomes a mirror, reflecting our shared human experience.

The Power of Music: A Language Beyond Words

The Ney as a Spiritual Instrument

In Persian culture, the ney is more than a musical tool—it’s a conduit for the divine. Its melancholic tones, distinct from the brighter sound of a Western flute, carry an almost vocal quality, as if the reed itself is weeping. Araspus emphasizes music’s universality: “Music is an international language—everybody can understand its sadness, regardless of what language you have.” This accessibility makes the ney a perfect vehicle for Rumi’s message, reaching beyond linguistic barriers to touch the soul directly.

In the video, Araspus plays a recording of the late Iranian master singer Mohammad Reza Shajarian performing Rumi’s verse, accompanied by the ney and the tar (a stringed instrument). The music amplifies the poetry’s emotional depth, inviting listeners to feel the separation Rumi describes.

Persian Music’s Unique Resonance

Traditional Persian music, with its modal scales (dastgahs) and improvisational style, is uniquely suited to convey Rumi’s themes. The ney’s breathy, mournful notes blend with the tar’s resonant plucking, creating a soundscape that feels like a chant or prayer. Araspus calls this “amazing” and specific to Persian culture, setting it apart from other musical traditions. For Rumi, this sound is a call—a reminder of the Neyestan we’ve left behind.

Language and Etymology: Decoding Neyestan

The Meaning of Neyestan

Araspus enriches our understanding by exploring the Persian word Neyestan. “In Persian, we have a suffix for place, stan,” he explains. “Ney is the reed, so Neyestan means the land of the reed.” This isn’t just a poetic flourish; it’s a linguistic clue to Rumi’s intent. Neyestan evokes a tangible place of origin, contrasting with the reed’s current isolation.

The suffix stan appears in many place names—Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, Pakistan—meaning “land of.” Araspus connects this to English words like “state” or “stand,” rooted in the Indo-European language family that Persian shares with English, French, and others. This etymological thread underscores the universality of Rumi’s imagery, linking cultures through language.

Ney and Nothingness

The word ney also carries a deeper resonance. Araspus notes its similarity to “nothing” in Persian, tying it to the reed’s emptiness. He draws a fascinating parallel: “There’s a metaphor relationship between zero and infinity.” In mathematics, zero and infinity are boundless concepts, and in Sufi thought, nothingness is the gateway to the infinite divine. Rumi’s choice of the ney thus weaves together physical, linguistic, and spiritual layers of meaning.

Rumi in the Modern World: Finding Meaning Amid Separation

Loneliness in the 21st Century

Today, separation is a defining feature of our lives. Physical distance, social isolation, and digital overload have left many feeling unmoored. Rumi’s reed speaks to this modern malaise, its moan echoing our own unspoken yearnings. In a world obsessed with productivity and distraction, Rumi invites us to pause, listen, and acknowledge our loneliness—not as a weakness, but as a shared human truth.

I see Rumi’s message as a call to mindfulness. The ney’s cry reminds us to strip away the noise and reconnect with our inner selves, much as the hollow reed channels breath into music. In 2025, amidst global challenges like pandemics and polarization, this introspection feels urgent.

Music as a Healing Force

Music remains a universal balm, just as it was in Rumi’s time. Whether it’s the ney’s lament or a contemporary song, music transcends borders and heals wounds we can’t articulate. Araspus’s inclusion of Shajarian’s performance in the video underscores this power, offering a sensory experience that deepens our connection to Rumi’s words. I believe this is why Rumi paired poetry with musical metaphors—together, they reach parts of us that words alone cannot.

Bridging Cultures Through Language

Araspus’s linguistic insights highlight Persian’s place in the Indo-European family, making it accessible to English speakers. Learning about Neyestan or the shared roots of “state” and stan fosters cultural appreciation, breaking down barriers in an increasingly divided world. Rumi’s poetry, born in Persia but embraced globally, exemplifies this bridge-building potential.

Historical Context: Rumi’s Life and Legacy

The 13th-Century Backdrop

Rumi lived during the Seljuk Empire’s twilight, a time of cultural flourishing and turmoil. Born in 1207 in Balkh (modern-day Afghanistan), he fled Mongol invasions, eventually settling in Konya, Turkey. His encounter with Shams in 1244 transformed him from a scholar into a mystic poet. The Masnavi, begun in his later years, reflects this evolution, blending Sufi teachings with poetic genius.

Sufism and the Masnavi

Sufism, the mystical branch of Islam, seeks direct experience of the divine. The Masnavi’s 25,000+ couplets are a guide for this journey, using stories, metaphors, and music to illuminate spiritual truths. The second verse, part of the famous opening 18 lines (the “Song of the Reed”), sets the tone: separation is the soul’s starting point, and longing is its path to reunion.

Expanding the Verse: A Deeper Dive

The Ney’s Craftsmanship

Crafting a ney is an art form. Reeds are harvested, dried, and pierced with holes, their hollowness meticulously preserved. This process mirrors Rumi’s spiritual metaphor—transformation requires sacrifice. The ney’s sound, shaped by the player’s breath, symbolizes the divine spark animating the empty soul.

Shajarian’s Legacy

Mohammad Reza Shajarian (1940–2020), featured in Araspus’s video, was a titan of Persian classical music. His rendition of Rumi’s verse, with its soaring vocals and ney accompaniment, captures the poet’s melancholy and hope. Shajarian’s passing marked a loss to Iran’s cultural heritage, yet his recordings keep Rumi’s spirit alive.

My Interpretation: The Reed as Resilience

To me, the reed is more than a symbol of loss—it’s a testament to resilience. Uprooted and reshaped, it doesn’t break; it sings. In our lives, separation—be it from loved ones, homes, or ideals—can hollow us out. Yet, like the ney, we can transform that emptiness into something beautiful, a melody that connects us to others and to eternity.

Conclusion: The Reed’s Eternal Song

Rumi’s second verse in the Masnavi is a timeless cry of the soul, brought to life by the ney’s haunting voice and Arasp Kazemian’s insightful commentary. It reminds us that separation is universal, but so is the longing for reunion—with each other, with the divine, with ourselves. In the Neyestan of our hearts, we carry the memory of home, and through poetry, music, and reflection, we can find our way back.

Listen to the reed. Let it awaken you. And let Rumi’s words guide you through the loneliness to the light beyond.