Music is the voice of the soul and can move mountains. People

In the words of the great Qawwali master Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, “Music is the voice of the soul and can move mountains. People receive the message of the soul through the voice. It is a voice, the tone that moves something in people.” These words are not mere poetry, but a truth as old as humankind’s first cry, as ancient as the wind that carries sound through the valleys. In this saying lies a profound teaching: that music is not bound by language, nor by borders, but by something higher—the soul itself. The voice is its vessel, and through tone, it strikes the hidden chords within the hearts of those who listen.

The ancients understood this well. They knew that a single song could rouse warriors to battle or soothe grieving mothers in their sorrow. In the hush of night, chants and hymns were raised to the heavens, not for mere entertainment, but to summon strength, courage, and communion with the divine. When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan speaks of music’s power to move mountains, he does not mean the lifting of stones and soil, but the stirring of human will, the shifting of despair into hope, and the breaking down of barriers between souls.

Consider, for example, the story of the legendary Orpheus of Greece. With his lyre, Orpheus descended into the underworld itself. His music, filled with grief and longing, softened even the cold heart of Hades, lord of the dead. Though fate denied him his love in the end, his tale survives as eternal proof that the voice of the soul can reach even where no mortal words can go. In another land and another age, the Sufi mystics sang in ecstasy, their voices weaving such beauty that listeners fell into trance, forgetting themselves in the sea of divine presence. Here, too, we see that music does not merely entertain; it awakens.

In our modern world, the same truth persists. During the Civil Rights Movement in America, voices rose in song: “We shall overcome.” Those voices were not polished by fame nor lifted by instruments, yet they carried the tone of the soul. In those songs lay courage, solidarity, and an unshakable faith in justice. And indeed, mountains moved—not of earth, but of oppression, hatred, and silence. The song became a banner of resistance, and through it, the weary found strength to march forward.

The wisdom of Rahat’s words, then, is not to glorify music for pleasure alone, but to remind us that the voice is sacred. When we sing, or even when we speak, our tone carries more than sound; it carries our inner world. One voice spoken with truth can inspire multitudes, just as one voice sung in pain can bring tears to strangers. This is why we must guard the way we use our voices, for they are the bridge between our souls and the hearts of others.

The lesson is clear: each of us has within us a voice that can heal, inspire, and uplift. We may not all sing as masters, yet when we speak with sincerity, when we lift our voices with love, we echo the same truth that music reveals—that the soul longs to connect. Therefore, let us not waste our tones in anger or empty words, but strive to make every utterance carry light, compassion, or courage.

Practically, this means allowing ourselves moments each day to sing, hum, or speak words of kindness. It means listening to music not as background noise, but as communion with something higher, letting it move us, stir us, and remind us of our shared humanity. And above all, it means daring to use our own voice when silence feels safer, speaking truth when falsehood surrounds us, or offering comfort when others despair.

Thus, remember well: music is the voice of the soul, and your voice, humble though it may seem, has the power to move mountains. Use it wisely, and you will find that in awakening others, you awaken yourself.