The Kahlil Gibran Collection

by Kahlil Gibran

  We walked on until we reached an inlet. There we saw, standing on a white rock, a man holding a bejewelled box, from which he took sugar and threw it into the sea.

  "And this is the optimist," said my soul, "And he too must not see our naked bodies.

  Further on we walked. And on a beach we saw a man picking up dead fish and tenderly putting them back into the water.

  "And we cannot bathe before him," said my soul. "He is the humane philanthropist."

  And we passed on.

  Then we came where we saw a man tracing his shadow on the sand. Great waves came and erased it. But he went on tracing it again and again.

  "He is the mystic," said my soul, "Let us leave him."

  And we walked on, till in a quiet cove we saw a man scooping up the foam and putting it into an alabaster bowl.

  "He is the idealist," said my soul, "Surely he must not see our nudity."

  And on we walked. Suddenly we heard a voice crying, "This is the sea. This is the deep sea. This is the vast and mighty sea." And when we reached the voice it was a man whose back was turned to the sea, and at his ear he held a shell, listening to its murmur.

  And my soul said, "Let us pass on. He is the realist, who turns his back on the whole he cannot grasp, and busies himself with a fragment."

  So we passed on. And in a weedy place among the rocks was a man with his head buried in the sand. And I said to my soul, "We can bathe here, for he cannot see us."

  "Nay," said my soul, "For he is the most deadly of them all. He is the puritan."

  Then a great sadness came over the face of my soul, and into her voice.

  "Let us go hence," she said, "For there is no lonely, hidden place where we can bathe. I would not have this wind lift my golden hair, or bare my white bosom in this air, or let the light disclose my sacred nakedness."

  Then we left that sea to seek the Greater Sea.

  Crucified

  I cried to men, "I would be crucified!"

  And they said, "Why should your blood be upon our heads?

  And I answered, "How else shall you be exalted except by crucifying madmen?"

  And they heeded and I was crucified. And the crucifixion appeased me.

  And when I was hanged between earth and heaven they lifted up their heads to see me. And they were exalted, for their heads had never before been lifted.

  But as they stood looking up at me one called out, "For what art thou seeking to atone?"

  And another cried, "In what cause dost thou sacrifice thyself?"

  And a third said, "Thinkest thou with this price to buy world glory?"

  Then said a fourth, "Behold, how he smiles! Can such pain be forgiven?"

  And I answered them all, and said :

  "Remember only that I smiled. I do not atone—nor sacrifice—nor wish for glory; and I have nothing to forgive. I thirsted—and I besought you to give me my blood to drink. For what is there can quench a madman's thirst but his own blood? I was dumb—and I asked wounds of you for mouths. I was imprisoned in your days and nights—and I sought a door into larger days and nights.

  And now I go—as others already crucified have gone. And think not we are weary of crucifixion. For we must be crucified by larger and yet larger men, between greater earths and greater heavens."

  The Astronomer

  In the shadow of the temple my friend and I saw a blind man sitting alone. And my friend said, "Behold the wisest man of our land."

  Then I left my friend and approached the blind man and greeted him. And we conversed.

  After a while I said, "Forgive my question; but since when hast thou been blind?"

  "From my birth," he answered.

  Said I, "And what path of wisdom followest thou?"

  Said he, "I am an astronomer."

  Then he placed his hand upon his breast saying, "I watch all these suns and moons and stars."

  The Great Longing

  Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea.

  We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange. Nay, it is deeper than my sister's depth and stronger than my brother's strength, and stranger than the strangeness of my madness.

  Aeons upon aeons have passed since the first grey dawn made us visible to one another; and though we have seen the birth and the fulness and the death of many worlds, we are still eager and young.

  We are young and eager and yet we are mateless and unvisited, and though we lie in unbroken half embrace, we are uncomforted. And what comfort is there for controlled desire and unspent passion? Whence shall come the flaming god to warm my sister's bed? And what she-torrent shall quench my brother's fire? And who is the woman that shall command my heart?

  In the stillness of the night my sister murmurs in her sleep the fire-god's unknown name, and my brother calls afar upon the cool and distant goddess. But upon whom I call in my sleep I know not.

  Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange.

  Said A Blade Of Grass

  Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams."

  Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing."

  Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again—and she was a blade of grass.

  And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams."

  The Eye

  Said the Eye one day, "I see beyond these valleys a mountain veiled with blue mist. Is it not beautiful?"

  The Ear listened, and after listening intently awhile, said, "But where is any mountain? I do not hear it."

  Then the Hand spoke and said, "I am trying in vain to feel it or touch it, and I can find no mountain."

  And the Nose said, "There is no mountain, I cannot smell it."

  Then the Eye turned the other way, and they all began to talk together about the Eye's strange delusion. And they said, "Something must be the matter with the Eye."

  The Two Learned Men

  Once there lived in the ancient city of Afkar two learned men who hated and belittled each other's learning. For one of them denied the existence of the gods and the other was a believer.

  One day the two met in the market-place, and amidst their followers they began to dispute and to argue about the existence or the non-existence of the gods. And after hours of contention they parted.

  That evening the unbeliever went to the temple and prostrated himself before the altar and prayed the gods to forgive his wayward past.

  And the same hour the other learned man, he who had upheld the gods, burned his sacred books. For he had become an unbeliever.

  When My Sorrow Was Born

  When my Sorrow was born I nursed it with care, and watched over it with loving tenderness.

  And my Sorrow grew like all living things, strong and beautiful and full of wondrous delights.

  And we loved one another, my Sorrow and I, and we loved the world about us; for Sorrow had a kindly heart and mine was kindly with Sorrow.

  And when we conversed, my Sorrow and I, our days were winged and our nights were girdled with dreams; for Sorrow had an eloquent tongue, and mine was eloquent with Sorrow.

  And when we sang together, my Sorrow and I, our neighbours sat at their windows and listened; for our songs were deep as the sea and our melodies were full of strange memories.

  And when we walked together, my Sorrow and I, people gazed at us with gentle eyes and whispered in words of exceeding sweetness. And there were those who looked with envy upon us, for Sorrow was a noble thing and I was proud with Sorrow.

  But my Sorrow
died, like all living things, and alone I am left to muse and ponder.

  And now when I speak my words fall heavily upon my ears.

  And when I sing my songs my neighbours come not to listen.

  And when I walk the streets no one looks at me.

  Only in my sleep I hear voices saying in pity, "See, there lies the man whose Sorrow is dead."

  And When My Joy Was Born

  And when my Joy was born, I held it in my arms and stood on the house-top shouting, "Come ye, my neighbours, come and see, for Joy this day is born unto me. Come and behold this gladsome thing that laugheth in the sun."

  But none of my neighbours came to look upon my Joy, and great was my astonishment.

  And every day for seven moons I proclaimed my Joy from the house-top—and yet no one heeded me. And my Joy and I were alone, unsought and unvisited.

  Then my Joy grew pale and weary because no other heart but mine held its loveliness and no other lips kissed its lips.

  Then my Joy died of isolation.

  And now I only remember my dead Joy in remembering my dead Sorrow. But memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.

  ' The Perfect World '

  God of lost souls, thou who art lost amongst the gods, hear me :

  Gentle Destiny that watchest over us, mad, wandering spirits, hear me :

  I dwell in the midst of a perfect race, I the most imperfect.

  I, a human chaos, a nebula of confused elements, I move amongst finished worlds—peoples of complete laws and pure order, whose thoughts are assorted, whose dreams are arranged, and whose visions are enrolled and registered.

  Their virtues, O God, are measured, their sins are weighed, and even the countless things that pass in the dim twilight of neither sin nor virtue are recorded and catalogued.

  Here days and nights are divided into seasons of conduct and governed by rules of blameless accuracy.

  To eat, to drink, to sleep, to cover one's nudity, and then to be weary in due time.

  To work, to play, to sing, to dance, and then to lie still when the clock strikes the hour.

  To think thus, to feel thus much, and then to cease thinking and feeling when a certain star rises above yonder horizon.

  To rob a neighbour with a smile, to bestow gifts with a graceful wave of the hand, to praise prudently, to blame cautiously, to destroy a soul with a word, to burn a body with a breath, and then to wash the hands when the day's work is done.

  To love according to an established order, to entertain one's best self in a preconceived manner, to worship the gods becomingly, to intrigue the devils artfully—and then to forget all as though memory were dead.

  To fancy with a motive, to contemplate with consideration, to be happy sweetly, to suffer nobly—and then to empty the cup so that tomorrow may fill it again.

  All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with determination, nursed with exactness, governed by rules, directed by reason, and then slain and buried after a prescribed method. And even their silent graves that lie within the human soul are marked and numbered.

  It is a perfect world, a world of consummate excellence, a world of supreme wonders, the ripest fruit in God's garden, the master-thought of the universe.

  But why should I be here, O God, I a green seed of unfulfilled passion, a mad tempest that seeketh neither east nor west, a bewildered fragment from a burnt planet?

  Why am I here, O God of lost souls, thou who art lost amongst the gods?

  The Forerunner (1920 )

  Foreword

  You are your own forerunner, and the towers you have builded are but the foundation of your giant-self. And that self too shall be a foundation. And I too am my own forerunner, for the long shadow stretching before me at sunrise shall gather under my feet at the noon hour. Yet another sunrise shall lay another shadow before me, and that also shall be gathered at another noon. Always have we been our own forerunners, and always shall we be. And all that we have gathered and shall gather shall be but seeds for fields yet unploughed. We are the fields and the ploughmen, the gatherers and the gathered. When you were a wandering desire in the mist, I too was there, a wandering desire. Then we sought one another, and out of our eagerness dreams were born. And dreams were time limitless, and dreams were space without measure. And when you were a silent word upon life's quivering lips, I too was there, another silent word. Then life uttered us and we came down the years throbbing with memories of yesterday and with longing for tomorrow, for yesterday was death conquered and tomorrow was birth pursued. And now we are in God's hands. You are a sun in His right hand and I an earth in His left hand. Yet you are not more, shining, than I, shone upon. And we, sun and earth, are but the beginning of a greater sun and a greater earth. And always shall we be the beginning. You are your own forerunner, you the stranger passing by the gate of my garden. And I too am my own forerunner, though I sit in the shadows of my trees and seem motionless.

  God's Fool

  Once there came from the desert to the great city of Sharia a man who was a dreamer, and he had naught but his garment and staff.

  And as he walked through the streets he gazed with awe and wonder at the temples and towers and palaces, for the city of Sharia was of surpassing beauty. And he spoke often to the passers-by, questioning them about their city - but they understood not his language, nor he their language.

  At the noon hour he stopped before a vast inn. It was built of yellow marble, and people were going in and coming out unhindered.

  “This must be a shrine,’ he said to himself, and he too went in. But what was his surprise to find himself in a hall of great splendour and a large company of men and women seated about many tables. They were eating and drinking and listening to the musicians.

  ‘Nay,’ said the dreamer. ‘This is no worshipping. It must be a feast given by the prince to the people, in celebration of a great event.’

  At that moment a man, whom he took to be the slave of the prince, approached him, and bade him be seated. And he was served with meat and wine and most excellent sweets.

  When he was satisfied, the dreamer rose to depart. At the door he was stopped by a large man magnificently arrayed.

  ‘Surely this is the prince himself,’ said the dreamer in his heart, and he bowed to him and thanked him.

  Then the large man said in the language of the city :

  ‘Sir, you have not paid for your dinner.’ And the dreamer did not understand, and again thanked him heartily. Then the large man bethought him, and he looked more closely upon the dreamer. And he saw that he was a stranger, clad in but a poor garment, and that indeed he had not wherewith to pay for his meal. Then the large man clapped his hands and called - and there came four watchmen of the city. And they listened to the large man. Then they took the dreamer between them, and they were two on each side of him. And the dreamer noted the ceremoniousness of their dress and of their manner and he looked upon them with delight. ‘These,’ said he, ‘are men of distinction.’

  And they walked all together until they came to the House of Judgement and they entered.

  The dreamer saw beofre him, seated upon a throne, a venerable man with flowing beard, robed majestically. And he thought he was the king. And he rejoiced to be brought before him.

  Now the watchmen related to the judge, who was the venerable man, the charge against the dreamer, and the judge appointed two advocates, one to present the charge and the other to defend the stranger. And the advocates rose, the one after the other, and delivered each his argument. And the dreamer thought himself to be listening to addresses of welcome, and his heart filled with gratitude to the king and the prince for all that was done for him.

  Then sentence was passed upon the dreamer, that upon a tablet about his neck his crime should be written, and that he should ride through the city on a naked horse, with a trumpeter and a drummer before him. And the sentence was carried out forthwith.

  Now as the dreame
r rode through the city upon the naked horse, with the trumpeter and the drummer before him, the inhabitants of the city came running forth at the sound of the noise, and when they saw him they laughed one and all, and the children ran after him in companies from street to street. And the dreamer’s heart was filled with ecstasy, and his eyes shone upon them. For to him the tablet was a sign of the king’s blessing and the procession was in his honour.

  Now as he rode, he saw among the crowd a man who was from the desert like himself and his heart swelled with joy, and he cried out to him with a shout :

  ‘Friend! Friend! Where are we? What city of the heart’s desire is this? What race of lavish hosts, who feast the chance guest in their palaces, whose princes companion him, whose kings hangs a token upon his breast and opens to him the hospitality of a city descended from heaven?’

  And he who was also of the desert replied not. He only smiled and slightly shook his head. And the procession passed on.

  And the dreamer’s face was uplifted and his eyes were overflowing with light

  Love

  They say the jackal and the mole

  Drink from the selfsame stream

  Where the lion comes to drink.

  * * *

  And they say the eagle and the vulture

  Dig their beaks into the same carcass,

  And are at peace, one with the other,

  In the presence of the dead thing.

  * * *