On March 23, I attended the celebration of the Persian New Year, Navroz, at Calgary City Hall. It was sponsored by the Ismaili Muslim Council for the Prairies.

Navroz marks the first day of spring or Equinox and the beginning of the year in the Persian calendar. The word means “new day.” Mayor Nenshi was the keynote speaker. This particular celebration featured Persian art, music, and poetry. Art is an expression of creativity and new life that comes in many forms. Most of the artistic pieces on display and the artists who performed were living in Alberta. The program was totally inspiring. Mayor Nenshi’s talk was well worth the trip downtown. However, on the back cover of the program was a poem by the great Persian poet, Rumi. I read the poem and almost jumped up out of my seat in joyful exuberance.

Excitedly, I shoved the poem in the face of a Jewish friend and exclaimed, “I have to read this on Easter Sunday.” She was a bit taken back and surprised, looked at me and asked, “Why?” “Please read it,” I said. She did and nodded saying, “Oh, I get it; it is a beautiful poem and so fits your season of Easter.

Here it is. Enjoy.

The Music We Are

Did you hear that winter’s over?

The basil and carnations cannot control their laughter.

The nightingale, back from his winter wanderings, has been made

singing-master over all the birds.

The trees reach out their congratulations.

The soul goes dancing through the King’s doorway.

Anemones blush because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom, and several

December thieves steal away.

Last year’s miracles will soon be forgotten.

New creatures whirl in from nonexistence,

galaxies scattered around their feet.

Have you met them?

Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?

A single narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector of Kingdoms.

A feast is set.

Listen.

The wind is pouring wine! Love used to be hidden in images.

No more! The orchard hangs out its lanterns.

The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.

Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.

You say, “End this poem and wait for what’s next.” I will.

Poems are rough notations for the music we are.

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

About the Author

Although Tom was born and raised an American, his life experience and faith journey have brought him to our congregation. His social justice background, deep empathy and sense of humor have combined to give him the depth to lead this flock in south Calgary. He can be totally at home leading us in prayer or in a rousing shout of “Yahoo!”