Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran Read online

  With quiet and contented melody.

  WINTER

  Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;

  Come close to me and let not Winter’s touch

  Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,

  For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

  Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for

  That is greater than the shrieking elements

  Beyond our door.

  Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the

  Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my

  Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields

  Makes my soul cry.

  Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and

  Place it by you, so I can read with tears what

  Your life with me has written upon your face.

  Bring Autumn’s wine. Let us drink and sing the

  Song of remembrance to Spring’s carefree sowing,

  And Summer’s watchful tending, and Autumn’s

  Reward in harvest.

  Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the

  Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.

  Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is

  Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing

  Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before

  They are shut.

  Find me with your arms and embrace me; let

  Slumber then embrace our souls as one.

  Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen

  All but our moving lips.

  You are close by me, My Forever.

  How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber;

  And how recent was the dawn!

  THE HOUSE OF FORTUNE

  MY WEARIED heart bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune. As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshipped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there. The city was empty of power, money, and authority.

  And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, “Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you.”

  And the daughter of Love responded, “Contentment has already gone to preach her gospel in the city, where greed and corruption are paramount; we are not in need of her.”

  Fortune craves not Contentment, for it is an earthly hope, and its desires are embraced by union with objects, while Contentment is naught but heartfelt.

  The eternal soul is never contented; it ever seeks exaltation. Then my heart looked upon Life of Beauty and said, “Thou art all knowledge; enlighten me as to the mystery of Woman.” And he answered, “Oh human heart, woman is your own reflection, and whatever you are, she is; wherever you live, she lives; she is like religion if not interpreted by the ignorant, and like a moon, if not veiled with clouds, and like a breeze, if not poisoned with impurities.”

  And my heart walked toward Knowledge, the daughter of Love and Beauty, and said, “Bestow upon me wisdom, that I might share it with the people.” And she responded, “Say not wisdom, but rather fortune, for real fortune comes not from outside, but begins in the Holy of Holies of life. Share of thyself with the people.”

  SONG OF THE WAVE

  THE STRONG SHORE is my beloved

  And I am his sweetheart.

  We are at last united by love, and

  Then the moon draws me from him.

  I go to him in haste and depart

  Reluctantly, with many

  Little farewells.

  I steal swiftly from behind the

  Blue horizon to cast the silver of

  My foam upon the gold of his sand, and

  We blend in melted brilliance.

  I quench his thirst and submerge his

  Heart; he softens my voice and subdues

  My temper.

  At dawn I recite the rules of love upon

  His ears, and he embraces me longingly.

  At eventide I sing to him the song of

  Hope, and then print smooth kisses upon

  His face; I am swift and fearful, but he

  Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His

  Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

  As the tide comes we caress each other,

  When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in

  Prayer.

  Many times have I danced around mermaids

  As they rose from the depths and rested

  Upon my crest to watch the stars;

  Many times have I heard lovers complain

  Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh.

  Many times have I teased the great rocks

  And fondled them with a smile, but never

  Have I received laughter from them;

  Many times have I lifted drowning souls

  And carried them tenderly to my beloved

  Shore. He gives them strength as he

  Takes mine.

  Many times have I stolen gems from the

  Depths and presented them to my beloved

  Shore. He takes in silence, but still

  I give for he welcomes me ever.

  In the heaviness of night, when all

  Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I

  Sit up, singing at one time and sighing

  At another. I am awake always.

  Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!

  But I am a lover, and the truth of love

  Is strong.

  I may weary, but I shall never die.

  A POET’S DEATH IS HIS LIFE

  THE DARK WINGS of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure and white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He was a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death’s visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lips a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.

  He was a poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He was a noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.

  He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart’s feeling. As he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil of clouds.

  And he said, “Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons of life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbours who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother’s kiss, nor touched a sister’s cheeks, nor caressed a sweetheart’s fingertips. Come and take me, my beloved Death.”

  Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit. She impressed a deep and long and gently withdrawn kiss that left an eternal smile
of fulfillment upon his lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was left save parchments and papers which the poet had strewn about with bitter futility.

  Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseased slumber of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge, they erected a monument in the most beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honour of that poet, whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man’s ignorance!

  PEACE

  THE TEMPEST calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of the lightning, but now silence prevailed over all, as if Nature’s war had never been fought.

  At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, “Oh Lord, bring him home safely to me. I have exhausted my tears and can offer no more, oh Lord, full of love and mercy. My patience is drained and calamity is seeking possession of my heart. Save him, oh Lord, from the iron paws of War; deliver him from such unmerciful Death, for he is weak, governed by the strong. Oh Lord, save my beloved, who is Thine own son, from the foe, who is thy foe. Keep him from the forced pathway to Death’s door; let him see me, or come and take me to him.”

  Quietly a young man entered. His head was wrapped in bandage soaked with escaping life.

  He approached her with a greeting of tears and laughter, then took her hand and placed against it his flaming lips. And with a voice which bespoke past sorrow, and joy of union, and uncertainty of her reaction, he said, “Fear me not, for I am the object of your plea. Be glad, for Peace has carried me back safely to you, and humanity has restored what greed essayed to take from us. Be not sad, but smile, my beloved. Do not express bewilderment, for Love has power that dispels Death; charm that conquers the enemy. I am your one. Think me not a spectre emerging from the House of Death to visit your Home of Beauty.

  “Do not be frightened, for I am now Truth, spared from swords and fire to reveal to the people the triumph of Love over War. I am Word uttering introduction to the play of happiness and peace.”

  Then the young man became speechless and his tears spoke the language of the heart; and the angels of Joy hovered about that dwelling, and the two hearts restored the singleness which had been taken from them.

  At dawn the two stood in the middle of the field, contemplating the beauty of Nature injured by the tempest. After a deep and comforting silence, the soldier looked to the east and said to his sweetheart, “Look at the Darkness, giving birth to the Sun.”

  THE CRIMINAL

  A YOUNG man of strong body, weakened by hunger, sat on the walker’s portion of the street stretching his hand toward all who passed, begging and repeating the sad song of his defeat in life, while suffering from hunger and from humiliation.

  When night came, his lips and tongue were parched, while his hand was still as empty as his stomach.

  He gathered himself and went out from the city, where he sat under a tree and wept bitterly. Then he lifted his puzzled eyes to heaven while hunger was eating his inside, and he said, “Oh Lord, I went to the rich man and asked for employment, but he turned away because of my shabbiness; I knocked at the school door, but was forbidden solace because I was empty-handed; I sought any occupation that would give me bread, but all to no avail. In desperation I asked alms, but Thy worshippers saw me and said, “He is strong and lazy, and he should not beg.”

  “Oh Lord, it is Thy will that my mother gave birth unto me, and now the earth offers me back to You before the Ending.”

  His expression then changed. He arose and his eyes now glittered in determination. He fashioned a thick and heavy stick from the branch of the tree, and pointed it toward the city, shouting, “I asked for bread with all the strength of my voice, and was refused. Now I shall obtain it by the strength of my muscles! I asked for bread in the name of mercy and love, but humanity did not heed. I shall take it now in the name of evil!”

  The passing years rendered the youth a robber, killer, and destroyer of souls; he crushed all who opposed him; he amassed fabulous wealth with which he won himself over to those in power. He was admired by colleagues, envied by other thieves, and feared by the multitudes.

  His riches and false position prevailed upon the Emir to appoint him deputy in that city—the sad process pursued by unwise governors. Thefts were then legalized; oppression was supported by authority; crushing of the weak became commonplace; the throngs curried and praised.

  Thus does the first touch of humanity’s selfishness make criminals of the humble, and make killers of the sons of peace; thus does the early greed of humanity grow and strike back at humanity a thousandfold!

  THE PLAYGROUND OF LIFE

  ONE HOUR devoted to the pursuit of Beauty

  And Love is worth a full century of glory

  Given by the frightened weak to the strong.

  From that hour comes man’s Truth; and

  During that century Truth sleeps between

  The restless arms of disturbing dreams.

  In that hour the soul sees for herself

  The Natural Law, and for that century she

  Imprisons herself behind the law of man;

  And she is shackled with irons of oppression.

  That hour was the inspiration of the Songs

  Of Solomon, and that century was the blind

  Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.

  That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the

  Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of

  Palmyra and the tower of Babylon.

  That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed, and that

  Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.

  One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the

  Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a

  Century filled with greed and usurpation.

  It is at that hour when the heart is

  Purified by flaming sorrow, and

  Illuminated by the torch of Love.

  And in the century, desires for Truth

  Are buried in the bosom of the earth.

  That hour is the root which must flourish.

  That hour is the hour of contemplation,

  The hour of meditation, the hour of

  Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.

  And that century is a life of Nero spent

  On self-investment taken solely from

  Earthly substance.

  This is life.

  Portrayed on the stage for ages;

  Recorded earthily for centuries;

  Lived in strangeness for years;

  Sung as a hymn for days;

  Exalted for but an hour, but the

  Hour is treasured by Eternity as a jewel.

  SONG OF FORTUNE

  MAN and I are sweethearts

  He craves me and I long for him,

  But alas! Between us has appeared

  A rival who brings us misery.

  She is cruel and demanding,

  Possessing empty lure.

  Her name is Substance.

  She follows wherever we go

  And watches like a sentinel, bringing

  Restlessness to my lover.

  I ask for my beloved in the forest,

  Under the trees, by the lakes.

  I cannot find him, for Substance

  Has spirited him to the clamourous

  City and placed him on the throne

  Of quaking, metal riches.

  I call for him with the voice of

  Knowledge and the song of Wisdom.

  He does not hearken, for Substance

  Has enticed him into the dungeon

  Of selfishness, where avarice dwells.

  I seek him in the field of Contentment,

  But I am alone, for my rival has

  Imprisoned him in the cave of gluttony

  And greed, and locked him the
re

  With painful chains of gold.

  I call to him at dawn, when Nature smiles,

  But he does not hear, for excess has

  Laden his drugged eyes with sick slumber.

  I beguile him at eventide, when Silence rules

  And the flowers sleep. But he responds not,

  For his fear over what the morrow will

  Bring, shadows his thoughts.

  He yearns to love me;

  He asks for me in his own acts. But he

  Will find me not except in God’s acts.

  He seeks me in the edifices of his glory

  Which he has built upon the bones of others;

  He whispers to me from among

  His heaps of gold and silver;

  But he will find me only by coming to

  The house of Simplicity which God has built

  At the brink of the stream of affection.

  He desires to kiss me before his coffers,

  But his lips will never touch mine except

  In the richness of the pure breeze.

  He asks me to share with him his

  Fabulous wealth, but I will not forsake God’s

  Fortune; I will not cast off my cloak of beauty.

  He seeks deceit for medium; I seek only

  The medium of his heart.

  He bruises his heart in his narrow cell;

  I would enrich his heart with my love.

  My beloved has learned how to shriek and

  Cry for my enemy, Substance; I would

  Teach him how to shed tears of affection

  And mercy from the eyes of his soul

  For all things,

  And utter sighs of contentment through

  Those tears.

  Man is my sweetheart;

  I want to belong to him.

  THE CITY OF THE DEAD

  YESTERDAY I drew myself from the noisome throngs and proceeded into the field until I reached a knoll upon which Nature had spread her comely garments. Now I could breathe.

  I looked back, and the city appeared with its magnificent mosques and stately residences veiled by the smoke of the shops.

  I commenced analyzing man’s mission, but could conclude only that most of his life was identified with struggle and hardship. Then I tried not to ponder over what the sons of Adam had done, and centered my eyes on the field which is the throne of God’s glory. In one secluded corner of the field I observed a burying ground surrounded by poplar trees.