Collected Poetical Works of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  “I would have you pity them all.

  “Should they seek your house, see that you open your door and bid them sit at your board. If you do not accept them you shall not be free from whatever they have committed.”

  And on a day I followed Him to the market-place of Jerusalem as the others followed Him. And He told us the parable of the prodigal son, and the parable of the merchant who sold all his possessions that he might buy a pearl.

  But as He was speaking the Pharisees brought into the midst of the crowd a woman whom they called a harlot. And they confronted Jesus and said to Him, “She defiled her marriage vow, and she was taken in the act.”

  And He gazed at her; and He placed His hand upon her forehead and looked deep into her eyes.

  Then he turned to the men who had brought her to Him, and He looked long at them; and He leaned down and with His finger He began to write upon the earth.

  He wrote the name of every man, and beside the name He wrote the sin that every man had committed.

  And as He wrote they escaped in shame into the streets.

  And ere He had finished writing only that woman and ourselves stood before Him.

  And again He looked into her eyes, and He said, “You have loved overmuch. They who brought you here loved but little. But they brought you as a snare for my ensnaring.

  “And now go in peace.

  “None of them is here to judge you. And if it is in your desire to be wise even as you are loving, then seek me; for the Son of Man will not judge you.”

  And I wondered then whether He said this to her because He Himself was not without sin.

  But since that day I have pondered long, and I know now that only the pure of heart forgive the thirst that leads to dead waters.

  And only the sure of foot can give a hand to him who stumbles.

  And again and yet again I say, the bitterness of death is less bitter than life without Him.

  A RICH MAN

  On Possessions

  He spoke ill of rich men. And upon a day I questioned Him saying, “Sir, what shall I do to attain the peace of the spirit?”

  And He bade me give my possessions to the poor and follow Him.

  But He possessed nothing; therefore He knew not the assurance and the freedom of possessions, nor the dignity and the self-respect that lie within.

  In my household there are seven-score slaves and stewards; some labour in my groves and vineyards, and some direct my ships to distant isles.

  Now had I heeded Him and given my possessions to the poor, what would have befallen my slaves and my servants and their wives and children? They too would have become beggars at the gate of the city or the portico of the temple.

  Nay that good man did not fathom the secret of possessions. Because He and His followers lived on the bounty of others He thought all men should live likewise.

  Behold a contradiction and a riddle: Should rich men bestow their riches upon the poor, and must the poor have the cup and the loaf of the rich man ere they welcome him to their board?

  And must needs the holder of the tower be host to his tenants ere he calls himself lord of his own land?

  The ant that stores food for the winter is wiser than a grasshopper that sings one day and hungers another.

  Last Sabbath one of His followers said in the market-place, “At the threshold of heaven where Jesus may leave His sandals, no other man is worthy to lay his head.”

  But I ask, at the threshold of whose house that honest vagabond could have left His sandals? He Himself never had a house nor a threshold; and often He went without sandals.

  JOHN AT PATMOS

  Jesus the Gracious

  Once more I would speak of Him.

  God gave me the voice and the burning lips though not the speech.

  And unworthy am I for the fuller word, yet I would summon my heart to my lips.

  Jesus loved me and I knew not why.

  And I loved Him because He quickened my spirit to heights beyond my stature, and to depths beyond my sounding.

  Love is a sacred mystery.

  To those who love, it remains forever wordless;

  But to those who do not love, it may be but a heartless jest.

  Jesus called me and my brother when we were labouring in the field.

  I was young then and only the voice of dawn had visited my ears.

  But His voice and the trumpet of His voice was the end of my labour and the beginning of my passion.

  And there were naught for me then but to walk in the sun and worship the loveliness of the hour.

  Could you conceive a majesty too kind to be majestic? And a beauty too radiant to seem beautiful?

  Could you hear in your dreams a voice shy of its own rapture?

  He called me and I followed Him.

  That evening I returned to my father’s house to get my other cloak.

  And I said to my mother, “Jesus of Nazareth would have me in His company.”

  And she said, “Go His way my son, even like your brother.”

  And I accompanied Him.

  His fragrance called me and commanded me, but only to release me.

  Love is a gracious host to his guests though to the unbidden his house is a mirage and a mockery.

  Now you would have me explain the miracles of Jesus.

  We are all the miraculous gesture of the moment; our Lord and Master was the centre of that moment.

  Yet it was not in His desire that His gestures be known.

  I have heard Him say to the lame, “Rise and go home, but say not to the priest that I have made you whole.”

  And Jesus’ mind was not with the cripple; it was rather with the strong and the upright.

  His mind sought and held other minds and His complete spirit visited other spirits.

  And is so doing His spirit changed these minds and these spirits.

  It seemed miraculous, but with our Lord and Master it was simply like breathing the air of every day.

  And now let me speak of other things.

  On a day when He and I were alone walking in a field, we were both hungry, and we came to a wild apple tree.

  There were only two apples hanging on the bough.

  And He held the trunk of the tree with His arm and shook it, and the two apples fell down.

  He picked them both up and gave one to me. The other He held in His hand.

  In my hunger I ate the apple, and I ate it fast.

  Then I looked at Him and I saw that He still held the other apple in His hand.

  And He gave it to me saying, “Eat this also.”

  And I took the apple, and in my shameless hunger I ate it.

  And as we walked on I looked upon His face.

  But how shall I tell you of what I saw?

  A night where candles burn in space,

  A dream beyond our reaching;

  A noon where all shepherds are at peace and happy that their flock are grazing;

  An eventide, and a stillness, and a homecoming;

  Then a sleep and a dream.

  All these things I saw in His face.

  He had given me the two apples. And I knew He was hungry even as I was hungry.

  But I now know that in giving them to me He had been satisfied. He Himself ate of other fruit from another tree.

  I would tell you more of Him, but how shall I?

  When love becomes vast love becomes wordless.

  And when memory is overladen it seeks the silent deep.

  PETER

  On the Neighbour

  Once in Capernaum my Lord and Master spoke thus:

  “Your neighbour is your other self dwelling behind a wall. In understanding, all walls shall fall down.

  “Who knows but that your neighbour is your better self wearing another body? See that you love him as you would love yourself.

  “He too is a manifestation of the Most High, whom you do not know.

  “Your neighbour is a field where the springs of your hope walk in their
green garments, and where the winters of your desire dream of snowy heights.

  “Your neighbour is a mirror wherein you shall behold your countenance made beautiful by a joy which you yourself if not know, and by a sorrow you yourself did not share.

  “I would have you love your neighbour even as I have loved you.”

  Then I asked Him saying, “How can I love a neighbour who loves me not, and who covets my property? One who would steal my possessions?”

  And He answered, “When you are ploughing and your manservant is sowing the seed behind you, would you stop and look backward and put to flight a sparrow feeding upon a few of your seeds? Should you do this, you were not worthy of the riches of your harvest.”

  When Jesus had said this, I was ashamed and I was silent. But I was not in fear, for He smiled upon me.

  A COBBLER IN JERUSALEM

  A Neutral

  I loved him not, yet I did not hate Him. I listened to Him not to hear His words but rather he sound of His voice; for His voice pleased me.

  All that He said was vague to my mind, but the music thereof was clear to my ear.

  Indeed were it not for what others have said to me of His teaching, I should not have known even so much as whether He was with Judea or against it.

  SUZANNAH OF NAZARETH

  Of the Youth and Manhood of Jesus

  I knew Mary the mother of Jesus, before she became the wife of Joseph the carpenter, when we were both still unwedded.

  In those days Mary would behold visions and hear voices, and she would speak of heavenly ministers who visited her dreams.

  And the people of Nazareth were mindful of her, and they observed her going and her coming. And they gazed upon her brows and spaces in her steps.

  But some said she was possessed. They said this because she would go only upon her own errands.

  I deemed her old while she was young, for there was a harvest in her blossoming and ripe fruit in her spring.

  She was born and reared amongst us yet she was like an alien from the North Country. In her eyes there was always the astonishment of one not yet familiar with our faces.

  And she was as haughty as Miriam of old who marched with her brothers form the Nile to the wilderness.

  Then Mary was betrothed to Joseph the carpenter.

  When Mary was big with Jesus she would walk among the hills and return at eventide with loveliness and pain in her eyes.

  And when Jesus was born I was told that Mary said to her mother, “I am but a tree unpruned. See you to this fruit.” Martha the midwife heard her.

  After three days I visited her. And there was wonder in her eyes, and her breasts heaved, and her arm was around her first-born like the shell that holds the pearl.

  We all loved Mary’s babe and we watched Him, for there was warmth in His being and He throbbed with the pace of His life.

  The seasons passed, and He became a boy full of laughter and little wanderings. None of us knew what He would do for He seemed always outside of our race. But He was never rebuked though He was venturous and over-daring.

  He played with the other children rather than they with Him.

  When He was twelve years old, one day He led a blind man across the brook to the safety of the open road.

  And in gratitude the blind man asked Him, “Little boy, who are you?”

  And He answered, “I am not a little boy. I am Jesus.”

  And the blind man said, “Who is your father?”

  And He answered, “God is my father.”

  And the blind man laughed and replied, “Well said, my little boy. But who is your mother?”

  And Jesus answered, “I am not your little boy. And my mother is the earth.”

  And the blind man said, “Then behold, I was led by the Son of God and the earth across the stream.”

  And Jesus answered, “I will lead you wherever you would go, and my eyes will accompany your feet.”

  And He grew like a precious palm tree in our gardens.

  When He was nineteen He was as comely as a hart, and His eyes were like honey and full of the surprise of day.

  And upon His mouth there was the thirst of the desert flock for the lake.

  He would walk the fields alone and our eyes would follow Him, and the eyes of all the maidens of Nazareth. But we were shy of Him.

  Love is forever shy of beauty, yet beauty shall forever be pursued by love.

  Then the years bade Him speak in the temple and in the gardens of Galilee.

  And at times Mary followed Him to listen to His words and to hear the sound of her own heart. But when He and those who loved Him went down to Jerusalem she would not go.

  For we at the North Country are often mocked in the streets of Jerusalem, even when we go carrying our offerings to the temple.

  And Mary was too proud to yield to the South Country.

  And Jesus visited other lands in the east and in the west. We knew not what lands He visited, yet our hearts followed Him.

  But Mary awaited Him upon her threshold and every eventide her eyes sought the road for His home-coming.

  Yet upon His return she would say to us, “He is too vast to be my Son, too eloquent for my silent heart. How shall I claim Him?”

  It seemed to us that Mary could not believe that the plain had given birth to the mountain; in the whiteness of her heart she did not see that the ridge is a pathway to the summit.

  She knew the man, but because He was her Son she dared not know Him.

  And on a day when Jesus went to the lake to be with the fishermen she said to me, “What is man but this restless being that would rise from the earth, and who is man but a longing that desires the stars?

  “My son is a longing. He is all of us longing for the stars.

  “Did I say my son? May God forgive me. Yet in my heart I would be His mother.”

  Now, it is hard to tell more of Mary and her Son, but though there shall be husks in my throat, and my words shall reach you like cripples on crutches, I must needs relate what I have seen and heard.

  It was in the youth of the year when the red anemones were upon the hills that Jesus called His disciples saying to them, “Come with me to Jerusalem and witness the slaying of the lamb for the Passover.”

  Upon the selfsame day Mary came to my door and said, “He is seeking the Holy City. Will you come and follow Him with me and the other women?”

  And we walked the long road behind Mary and her son till we reached Jerusalem. And there a company of men and women hailed us at the gate, for His coming had been heralded to those who loved Him.

  But upon that very night Jesus left the city with His men.

  We were told that He had gone to Bethany.

  And Mary stayed with us in the inn, awaiting His return.

  Upon the eve of the following Thursday He was caught without the walls, and was held prisoner.

  And when we heard He was a prisoner, Mary uttered not a word, but there appeared in her eyes the fulfilment of that promised pain and joy which we had beheld when she was but a bride in Nazareth.

  She did not weep. She only moved among us like the ghost of a mother who would not bewail the ghost of her son.

  We sat low upon the floor but she was erect, walking up and down the room.

  She would stand beside the window and gaze eastward, and then with the fingers of her two hands brush back her hair.

  At dawn she was still standing among us, like a lone banner in the wilderness wherein there are no hosts.

  We wept because we knew the morrow of her son; but she did not weep for she knew also what would befall Him.

  Her bones were of bronze and her sinews of the ancient elms, and her eyes were like the sky, wide and daring.

  Have you heard a thrush sing while its nest burns in the wind?

  Have you seen a woman whose sorrow is too much for tears, or a wounded heart that would rise beyond its own pain?

  You have not seen such a woman, for you have not stood in the presence of
Mary; and you have not been enfolded by the Mother Invisible.

  In that still moment when the muffled hoofs of silence beat upon the breasts of the sleepless, John the young son of Zebedee, came and said: “Mary Mother, Jesus is going forth. Come, let us follow Him.”

  And Mary laid her hand upon John’s shoulder and they went out, and we followed them.

  When we came to the Tower of David we saw Jesus carrying His cross. And there was a great crowd about Him.

  And two other men were also carrying their crosses.

  And Mary’s head was held high, and she walked with us after her son. And her step was firm.

  And behind her walked Zion and Rome, ay, the whole world, to revenge itself upon one free Man.

  When we reached the hill, He was raised high upon the cross.

  And I looked at Mary. And her face was not the face of a woman bereaved. It was the countenance of the fertile earth, forever giving birth, forever burying her children.

  Then to her eyes came the remembrance of His childhood, and she said aloud, “My son, who is not my son; man who once visited my womb, I glory in your power. I know that every drop of blood that runs down from your hands shall be the well-stream of a nation.

  “You die in this tempest even as my heart once died in the sunset, and I shall now sorrow.”

  At that moment I desired to cover my face with my cloak and run away to the North Country. But of a sudden I heard Mary say, “My son, who is not my son, what have you said to the man at your right hand that has made him happy in his agony? The shadow of death is light upon his face, and he cannot turn his eyes from you.

  “Now you smile upon me, and because you smile I know you have conquered.”

  And Jesus looked upon His mother and said, “Mary, from this hour be you the mother of John.”

  And to John He said, “Be a loving son unto this woman. Go to her house and let your shadow cross the threshold where I once stood. Do this in remembrance of me.”

  And Mary raised her right hand towards Him, and she was like a tree with one branch. And again she cried, “My son, who is not my son, if this be of God may God give us patience and the knowledge thereof. And if it be of man may God forgive him forevermore.