Khalil Gibran – Children Chapter IV

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 

"Speak to us of Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 

Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 

And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, 

So He loves also the bow that is stable.

Khalil Gibran – Death XXVII

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

And he said:

You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, 

Open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, 

Even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before 

The king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, 

That he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, 

But to free the breath from its restless tides, 

That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, 

Then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Kahlil Gibran – Self-Knowledge XVII

And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge."

And he answered, saying:

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.

But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.

You would know in words that which you have always know in thought.

You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;

And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.

But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;

And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."

Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."

For the soul walks upon all paths.

The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.

The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

Kahlil Gibran – Song of the Soul XXII

In the depth of my soul there is

A wordless song - a song that lives

In the seed of my heart.

It refuses to melt with ink on

Parchment; it engulfs my affection

In a transparent cloak and flows,

But not upon my lips.

How can I sigh it? I fear it may

Mingle with earthly ether;

To whom shall I sing it? It dwells

In the house of my soul, in fear of

Harsh ears.

When I look into my inner eyes

I see the shadow of its shadow;

When I touch my fingertips

I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its

Presence as a lake must reflect

The glittering stars; my tears

Reveal it, as bright drops of dew

Reveal the secret of a withering rose.

It is a song composed by contemplation,

And published by silence,

And shunned by clamor,

And folded by truth,

And repeated by dreams,

And understood by love,

And hidden by awakening,

And sung by the soul.

It is the song of love;

What Cain or Esau could sing it?

It is more fragrant than jasmine;

What voice could enslave it?

It is heartbound, as a virgin's secret;

What string could quiver it?

Who dares unite the roar of the sea

And the singing of the nightingale?

Who dares compare the shrieking tempest

To the sigh of an infant?

Who dares speak aloud the words

Intended for the heart to speak?

What human dares sing in voice

The song of God?

Kahlil Gibran – Song of Man XXV

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 I am, 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 I 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 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 great 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 of world, for there is no

Ending to my grief-stricken being.

Kahlil Gibran – Beauty XXV

And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."

All these things have you said of beauty.

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Kahlil Gibran – Defeat

Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;

You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,

And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.

Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,

Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot

And not to be trapped by withering laurels.

And in you I have found aloneness

And the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,

In your eyes I have read

That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,

And to be understood is to be leveled down,

And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness

And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,

You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,

And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,

And urging of seas,

And of mountains that burn in the night,

And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,

You and I shall laugh together with the storm,

And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,

And we shall stand in the sun with a will,

And we shall be dangerous.

Kahlil Gibran – 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.”

Kahlil Gibran – The Blessed City

In my youth I was told that in a certain city every one lived

according to the Scriptures.

And I said, “I will seek that city and the blessedness thereof.”

And it was far.  And I made great provision for my journey.  And

after forty days I beheld the city and on the forty-first day I

entered into it.

And lo! the whole company of the inhabitants had each but a single

eye and but one hand.  And I was astonished and said to myself,

“Shall they of this so holy city have but one eye and one hand?”

Then I saw that they too were astonished, for they were marveling

greatly at my two hands and my two eyes.  And as they were speaking

together I inquired of them saying, “Is this indeed the Blessed

City, where each man lives according to the Scriptures?”  And they

said, “Yes, this is that city.”

“And what,” said I, “hath befallen you, and where are your right

eyes and your right hands?”

And all the people were moved.  And they said, “Come thou and see.”

And they took me to the temple in the midst of the city.  And in

the temple I saw a heap of hands and eyes.  All withered.  Then said

I, “Alas! what conqueror hath committed this cruelty upon you?”

And there went a murmur amongst them.  And one of their elders

stood forth and said, “This doing is of ourselves.  God hath made

us conquerors over the evil that was in us.”

And he led me to a high altar, and all the people followed.  And

he showed me above the altar an inscription graven, and I read:

“If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee;

for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish,

and not that the whole body should be cast into hell.  And if thy

right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee; for it

is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and

not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.”

Then I understood.  And I turned about to all the people and cried,

“Hath no man or woman among you two eyes or two hands?”

And they answered me saying, “No, not one.  There is none whole save

such as are yet too young to read the Scripture and to understand

its commandment.”

And when we had come out of the temple, I straightway left that

Blessed City; for I was not too young, and I could read the scripture

Kahlil Gibran – 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 has 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.”

Kahlil Gibran – And When My Sorrow 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.

Kahlil Gibran – Ambition

Three men met at a tavern table.  One was a weaver, another a

carpenter and the third a ploughman.

Said the weaver, “I sold a fine linen shroud today for two pieces

of gold.  Let us have all the wine we want.”

“And I,” said the carpenter, “I sold my best coffin.  We will have

a great roast with the wine.”

“I only dug a grave,” said the ploughman, “but my patron paid me

double.  Let us have honey cakes too.”

And all that evening the tavern was busy, for they called often

for wine and meat and cakes.  And they were merry.

And the host rubbed his hands and smiled at his wife; for his guests

were spending freely.

When they left the moon was high, and they walked along the road

singing and shouting together.

The host and his wife stood in the tavern door and looked after

them.

“Ah!” said the wife, “these gentlemen!  So freehanded and so gay!

If only they could bring us such luck every day!  Then our son need

not be a tavern-keeper and work so hard.  We could educate him,

and he could become a priest.”

Khalil Gibran – A Lover's Call XXVII

Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little

Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you

As infants look upon the breast of their mothers?

Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of

Virtue has been placed in your honor, and upon

Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice?

Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge,

While you are replete with heavenly wisdom?

Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you

Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the

Field, haven of your dreams?

Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the

Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and

Filling their hands with your bounty?

You are God's spirit everywhere;

You are stronger than the ages.

Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of

You spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love

Floated about, singing the praise of the soul's deed?

Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the

Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs

Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury?

Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands

Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if

We were hiding ourselves within ourselves?

Recall you the hour I bade you farewell,

And the Maritime kiss you placed on my lips?

That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love

Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter!

That kiss was introduction to a great sigh,

Like the Almighty's breath that turned earth into man.

That sigh led my way into the spiritual world,

Announcing the glory of my soul; and there

It shall perpetuate until again we meet.

I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,

With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,

"Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,

And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.

"But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of

Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God.

"Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate;

Over her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower

The cup of the sweetness of life.

As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my

Comforting groom; you memory, my Eternal wedding."

Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in

The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey

To you my heart's every beat and affection.

Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image

Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his

Shadow on my happy countenance of the past.

Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty

And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses.

Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping

From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?

Do you know the greatness of my patience?

Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying

To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any

Secret communication between angels that will carry to

You my complaint?

Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life

Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me.

Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!

Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!

Where are you, me beloved?

Oh, how great is Love!

And how little am I!