Cries Rise From Her Fingertips

Each part of me displays my love for her;
Each scrap of me, a tongue that speaks her name.
I'm the lute in her arms, the flute at her lips,
And these my cries rise from her fingertips.
Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi (Kolliyaat-e Shams-e Tabrizi, 248)