Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  “I am the lost human heart, imprisoned in the foul dungeon of man’s dictates, tied with chains of earthly authority, dead and forgotten by laughing humanity whose tongue is tied and whose eyes are empty of visible tears.”

  All these words I heard, and I saw them emerging with a stream of ever-thinning blood from that wounded heart.

  More was said, but my misted eyes and crying soul prevented further sight or hearing.

  SONG OF LOVE

  I AM the lover’s eyes, and the spirit’s

  Wine, and the heart’s nourishment.

  I am a rose. My heart opens at dawn and

  The virgin kisses me and places me

  Upon her breast.

  I am the house of true fortune, and the

  Origin of pleasure, and the beginning

  Of peace and tranquility. I am the gentle

  Smile upon the lips of beauty. When youth

  Overtakes me he forgets his toil, and his

  Whole life becomes reality of sweet dreams.

  I am the poet’s elation,

  And the artist’s revelation,

  And the musician’s inspiration.

  I am a sacred shrine in the heart of a

  Child, adored by a merciful mother.

  I appear to a heart’s cry; I shun a demand;

  My fullness pursues the heart’s desire;

  It shuns the empty claim of the voice.

  I appeared to Adam through Eve

  And exile was his lot;

  Yet I revealed myself to Solomon, and

  He drew wisdom from my presence.

  I smiled at Helena and she destroyed Tarwada;

  Yet I crowned Cleopatra and peace dominated

  The Valley of the Nile.

  I am like the ages—building today

  And destroying tomorrow;

  I am like a god, who creates and ruins;

  I am sweeter than a violet’s sigh;

  I am more violent than a raging tempest.

  Gifts alone do not entice me;

  Parting does not discourage me;

  Poverty does not chase me;

  Jealousy does not prove my awareness;

  Madness does not evidence my presence.

  Oh seekers, I am Truth, beseeching Truth;

  And your Truth in seeking and receiving

  And protecting me shall determine my

  Behaviour.

  TWO WISHES

  IN THE silence of the night Death descended from God toward the earth. He hovered above a city and pierced the dwellings with his eyes. He saw the spirits floating on wings of dreams, and the people who were surrendered to the mercy of Slumber.

  When the moon fell below the horizon and the city became black, Death walked silently among the houses—careful to touch nothing—until he reached a palace. He entered through the bolted gates undisturbed, and stood by the rich man’s bed; and as Death touched his forehead, the sleeper’s eyes opened, showing great fright.

  When he saw the spectre, he summoned a voice mingled with fear and anger, and said, “Go away, oh horrible dream; leave me, you dreadful ghost. Who are you? How did you enter this place? What do you want? Leave this place at once, for I am the lord of the house and will call my slaves and guards, and order them to kill you!”

  Then Death spoke, softly but with smouldering thunder, “I am Death. Stand and bow!”

  The man responded, “What do you want? Why have you come here when I have not yet finished my affairs? What seek you from strength such as mine? Go to the weak man, and take him away!

  “I loathe the sight of your bloody paws and hollow face, and my eyes take sick at your horrible ribbed wings and cadaverous body.”

  After a quiet moment of fearful realization he added, “No, no, oh merciful Death! Mind not my talk, for fear reveals what the heart forbids.

  “Take a bushelful of my gold, or a handful of my slaves’ souls, but leave me. I have accounts with Life requiring settling; I have due from the people much gold; my ships have not reached the harbour; my wheat has not been harvested. Take anything you demand, but spare my life. Death, I own harems of supernatural beauty; your choice is my gift to you. Give heed, Death—I have but one child, and I love him dearly for he is my only joy in this life. I offer supreme sacrifice—take him, but spare me!”

  Death murmured, “You are not rich, but pitifully poor.” Then Death took the hand of that earthly slave, removed his reality, and gave to the angels the heavy task of correction.

  And Death walked slowly amidst the dwellings of the poor until he reached the most miserable he could find. He entered and approached a bed upon which a youth slept fitfully. Death touched his eyes; the lad sprang up as he saw Death standing by, and, with a voice full of love and hope he said, “Here I am, my beautiful Death. Accept my soul, for you are the hope of my dreams. Be their accomplishment! Embrace me, oh beloved Death! You are merciful; do not leave me. You are God’s messenger; deliver me to Him. You are the right hand of Truth and the heart of Kindness; do not neglect me.

  “I have begged for you many times, but you did not come; I have sought you, but you avoided me; I called out to you, but you listened not. You hear me now—embrace my soul, beloved Death!”

  Death placed his softened hand upon the trembling lips, removed all reality, and enfolded it beneath his wings for secure conduct. And returning to the sky, Death looked back and whispered his warning:

  “Only those return to Eternity

  Who on earth seek out Eternity.”

  SONG OF MAN

  I WAS HERE from the moment of the

  Beginning, and here I am still. And

  I shall remain here until the end

  Of the world, for there is no

  Ending to my grief-stricken being.

  I roamed the infinite sky, and

  Soared in the ideal world, and

  Floated through the firmament. But

  Here I am, prisoner of measurement.

  I heard the teachings of Confucius;

  I listened to Brahma’s wisdom;

  I sat by Buddha under the Tree of Knowledge.

  Yet here am I, existing with ignorance

  And heresy.

  I was on Sinai when Jehovah approached Moses;

  I saw the Nazarene’s miracles at the Jordan;

  I was in Medina when Mohammed visited.

  Yet here I am, prisoner of bewilderment.

  Then I witnessed the might of Babylon;

  I learned of the glory of Egypt;

  I viewed the warring greatness of Rome.

  Yet my earlier teachings showed the

  Weakness and sorrow of those achievements.

  I conversed with the magicians of Ain Dour;

  I debated with the priests of Assyria;

  I gleaned depth from the prophets of Palestine.

  Yet, I am still seeking the truth.

  I gathered wisdom from quiet India;

  I probed the antiquity of Arabia;

  I heard all that can be heard.

  Yet, my heart is deaf and blind.

  I suffered at the hands of despotic rulers;

  I suffered slavery under insane invaders;

  I suffered hunger imposed by tyranny;

  Yet, I still possess some inner power

  With which I struggle to greet each day.

  My mind is filled, but my heart is empty;

  My body is old, but my heart is an infant.

  Perhaps in youth my heart will grow, but I

  Pray to grow old and reach the moment of

  My return to God. Only then will my heart fill!

  I was here from the moment of the

  Beginning, and here I am still. And

  I shall remain here until the end

  Of the world, for there is no

  Ending to my grief-stricken being.

  YESTERDAY AND TODAY

  THE GOLD-HOARDER WALKED in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And over his head hovered worries
as a vulture hovers over a carcass, until he reached a beautiful lake surrounded by magnificent marble statuary.

  He sat there pondering the water which poured from the mouths of the statues like thoughts flowing freely from a lover’s imagination, and contemplating heavily his palace which stood upon a knoll like a birth-mark upon the cheek of a maiden. His fancy revealed to him the pages of his life’s drama which he read with falling tears that veiled his eyes and prevented him from viewing man’s feeble additions to Nature.

  He looked back with piercing regret to the images of his early life, woven into pattern by the gods, until he could no longer control his anguish. He said aloud, “Yesterday I was grazing my sheep in the green valley, enjoying my existence, sounding my flute, and holding my head high. Today I am a prisoner of greed. Gold leads into gold, then into restlessness, and finally into crushing misery.

  “Yesterday I was like a singing bird, soaring freely here and there in the fields. Today I am a slave to fickle wealth, society’s rules, the city’s customs, and purchased friends, pleasing the people by conforming to the strange and narrow laws of man. I was born to be free and enjoy the bounty of life, but I find myself like a beast of burden so heavily laden with gold that his back is breaking.

  “Where are the spacious plains, the singing brooks, the pure breeze, the closeness of Nature? Where is my deity? I have lost all! Naught remains save loneliness that saddens me, gold that ridicules me, slaves who curse to my back, and a palace that I have erected as a tomb for my happiness, and in whose greatness I have lost my heart.

  “Yesterday I roamed the prairies and the hills together with the Bedouin’s daughter; Virtue was our companion, Love our delight, and the moon our guardian. Today I am among women with shallow beauty who sell themselves for gold and diamonds.

  “Yesterday I was carefree, sharing with the shepherds all the joy of life; eating, playing, working, singing, and dancing together to the music of the heart’s truth. Today I find myself among the people like a frightened lamb among the wolves. As I walk in the roads, they gaze at me with hateful eyes and point at me with scorn and jealousy, and as I steal through the park I see frowning faces all about me.

  “Yesterday I was rich in happiness and today I am poor in gold.

  “Yesterday I was a happy shepherd looking upon my herd as a merciful king looks with pleasure upon his contented subjects. Today I am a slave standing before my wealth, my wealth which robbed me of the beauty of life I once knew.

  “Forgive me, my Judge! I did not know that riches would put my life in fragments and lead me into the dungeons of harshness and stupidity. What I thought was glory is naught but an eternal inferno.”

  He gathered himself wearily and walked slowly toward the palace, sighing and repeating, “Is this what people call wealth? Is this the god I am serving and worshipping? Is this what I seek of the earth? Why can I not trade it for one particle of contentment? Who would sell me one beautiful thought for a ton of gold? Who would give me one moment of love for a handful of gems? Who would grant me an eye that can see others’ hearts, and take all my coffers in barter?”

  As he reached the palace gates he turned and looked toward the city as Jeremiah gazed toward Jerusalem. He raised his arms in woeful lament and shouted, “Oh people of the noisome city, who are living in darkness, hastening toward misery, preaching falsehood, and speaking with stupidity … until when shall you remain ignorant? Until when shall you abide in the filth of life and continue to desert its gardens? Why wear you tattered robes of narrowness while the silk raiment of Nature’s beauty is fashioned for you? The lamp of wisdom is dimming; it is time to furnish it with oil. The house of true fortune is being destroyed; it is time to rebuild it and guard it. The thieves of ignorance have stolen the treasure of your peace; it is time to retake it!”

  At that moment a poor man stood before him and stretched forth his hand for alms. As he looked at the beggar, his lips parted, his eyes brightened with a softness, and his face radiated kindness. It was as if the yesterday he had lamented by the lake had come to greet him. He embraced the pauper with affection and filled his hand with gold, and with a voice sincere with the sweetness of love he said, “Come back tomorrow and bring with you your fellow sufferers. All your possessions will be restored.”

  He entered his palace saying, “Everything in life is good; even gold, for it teaches a lesson. Money is like a stringed instrument; he who does not know how to use it properly will hear only discordant music. Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and it enlivens the other who turns it upon his fellow men.”

  BEFORE THE THRONE OF BEAUTY

  ONE HEAVY day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamour of the city and directed my weary steps to the spacious valley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from touching the earth.

  I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul—my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.

  I was engrossed deeply in thought and my spirits were sailing the firmament when a Houri, wearing a sprig of grapevine that covered part of her naked body, and a wreath of poppies about her golden hair, suddenly appeared to me. As she realized my astonishment, she greeted me saying, “Fear me not; I am the Nymph of the Jungle.”

  “How can beauty like yours be committed to live in this place? Please tell me who you are and whence you come?” I asked. She sat gracefully on the green grass and responded, “I am the symbol of Nature! I am the Ever-Virgin your forefathers worshipped, and to my honour they erected shrines and temples at Baalbek and Djabeil.” And I dared say, “But those temples and shrines were laid waste and the bones of my adoring ancestors became a part of the earth; nothing was left to commemorate their goddess save a pitiful few and forgotten pages in the book of history.”

  She replied, “Some goddesses live in the lives of their worshippers and die in their death, while some live an eternal and infinite life. My life is sustained by the world of Beauty which you will see wherever you rest your eyes, and this Beauty is Nature itself; it is the beginning of the shepherd’s joy among the hills, and a villager’s happiness in the fields, and the pleasure of the awe-filled tribes between the mountains and the plains. This Beauty promotes the wise into the throne of Truth.”

  Then I said, “Beauty is a terrible power!” And she retorted, “Human beings fear all things, even yourselves. You fear heaven, the source of spiritual peace; you fear Nature, the haven of rest and tranquility; you fear the God of goodness and accuse him of anger, while he is full of love and mercy.”

  After a deep silence, mingled with sweet dreams, I asked, “Speak to me of that Beauty which the people interpret and define, each one according to his own conception; I have seen her honoured and worshipped in different ways and manners.”

  She answered, “Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive. When you meet Beauty, you feel that the hands deep within your inner self are stretched forth to bring her into the domain of your heart. It is a magnificence combined of sorrow and joy; it is the Unseen which you see, and the Vague which you understand, and the Mute which you hear—it is the Holy of Holies that begins in yourself and ends vastly beyond your earthly imagination.”

  Then the Nymph of the Jungle approached me and laid her scented hand upon my eyes. And as she withdrew, I found me alone in the valley. When I returned to the city, whose turbulence no longer vexed me, I repeated her words:

  “Beauty is that which attracts your soul,

  And that which loves to give and not to receive.”

  LEAVE ME, MY BLAMER

  LEAVE me, my blamer,

  For the sake of the love

  Which unites your soul with

  That of your beloved one;

  For the sake of that which

  Joins spirit
with mother’s

  Affection, and ties your

  Heart with filial love. Go,

  And leave me to my own

  Weeping heart.

  Let me sail in the ocean of

  My dreams; wait until Tomorrow

  Comes, for Tomorrow is free to

  Do with me as he wishes. Your

  Flaying is naught but shadow

  That walks with the spirit to

  The tomb of abashment, and shows

  Her the cold, solid earth.

  I have a little heart within me

  And I like to bring him out of

  His prison and carry him on the

  Palm of my hand to examine him

  In depth and extract his secret.

  Aim not your arrows at him, lest

  He take fright and vanish ere he

  Pours the secret’s blood as a

  Sacrifice at the altar of his

  Own faith, given him by Deity

  When He fashioned him of Love and Beauty.

  The sun is rising and the nightingale

  Is singing, and the myrtle is

  Breathing its fragrance into space.

  I want to free myself from the

  Quilted slumber of wrong. Do not

  Detain me, my blamer!

  Cavil me not by mention of the

  Lions of the forest or the

  Snakes of the valley, for

  My soul knows no fear of earth and

  Accepts no warning of evil before

  Evil comes.

  Advise me not, my blamer, for

  Calamities have opened my heart and

  Tears have cleansed my eyes, and

  Errors have taught me the language

  Of the hearts.

  Talk not of banishment, for Conscience

  Is my judge and he will justify me

  And protect me if I am innocent, and

  Will deny me of life if I am a criminal.

  Love’s procession is moving;

  Beauty is waving her banner;

  Youth is sounding the trumpet of joy;

  Disturb not my contrition, my blamer.

  Let me walk, for the path is rich

  With roses and mint, and the air