Collected Poetical Works of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  CLEOPAS OF BETHROUNE

  On the Law and the Prophets

  When Jesus spoke the whole world was hushed to listen. His words were not for our ears but rather for the elements of which God made this earth.

  He spoke to the sea, our vast mother, that gave us birth. He spoke to the mountain, our elder brother whose summit is a promise.

  And He spoke to the angels beyond the sea and the mountain to whom we entrusted our dreams ere the clay in us was made hard in the sun.

  And still His speech slumbers within our breast like a love-song half forgotten, and sometimes it burns itself through to our memory.

  His speech was simple and joyous, and the sound of His voice was like cool water in a land of drought.

  Once He raised His hand against the sky, and His fingers were like the branches of a sycamore tree; and He said with a great voice:

  “The prophets of old have spoken to you, and your ears are filled with their speech. But I say unto you, empty your ears of what you have heard.”

  And these words of Jesus, “But I say unto you,” were not uttered by a man of our race nor of our world; but rather by a host of seraphim marching across the sky of Judea.

  Again and yet again He would quote the law and the prophets, and then he would say, “But I say unto you.”

  Oh, what burning words, what waves of seas unknown to the shores of our mind, “But I say unto you.”

  What stars seeking the darkness of the soul, and what sleepless souls awaiting the dawn.

  To tell of the speech of Jesus one must needs have His speech or the echo thereof.

  I have neither the speech nor the echo.

  I beg you to forgive me for beginning a story that I cannot end. But the end is not yet upon my lips. It is still a love song in the wind.

  NAAMAN OF THE GADARENES

  On the Death of Stephen

  His disciples are dispersed. He gave them the legacy of pain ere He Himself was put to death. They are hunted like the deer, and the foxes of the fields, and the quiver of the hunter is yet full of arrows.

  But when they are caught and led to death, they are joyous, and their faces shine like the face of the bridegroom at the wedding-feast. For He gave them also the legacy of joy.

  I had a friend from the North Country, and his name was Stephen; and because he proclaimed Jesus as the Son of God, he was led to the market-place and stoned.

  And when Stephen fell to earth he outstretched his arms as if he would die as his Master had died. His arms were spread like wings ready for flight. And when the last gleam of light was fading in his eyes, with my own eyes I saw a smile upon his lips. It was a smile like the breath that comes before the end of winter for a pledge and a promise of spring.

  How shall I describe it?

  It seemed that Stephen was saying, “If I should go to another world, and other men should lead me to another market-place to stone me, even then I would proclaim Him for the truth which was in Him, and for that same truth which is in me now.”

  And I noticed that there was a man standing near, and looking with pleasure upon the stoning of Stephen.

  His name is Saul of Tarsus, and it was he who had yielded Stephen to the priests and the Romans and the crowd, for stoning.

  Saul was bald of head and short of stature. His shoulders were crooked and his features ill-sorted; and I liked him not.

  I have been told that he is now preaching Jesus from the house tops. It is hard to believe.

  But the grave halts not Jesus’ walking to the enemies’ camp to tame and take captive those who had opposed Him.

  Still I do not like that man of Tarsus, though I have been told that after Stephen’s death he was tamed and conquered on the road to Damascus. But his head is too large for his heart to be that of a true disciple.

  And yet perhaps I am mistaken. I am often mistaken.

  THOMAS

  On the Forefathers of His Doubts

  My grandfather who was a lawyer once said, “Let us observe truth, but only when truth is made manifest unto us.”

  When Jesus called me I heeded Him, for His command was more potent than my will; yet I kept my counsel.

  When He spoke and the others were swayed like branches in the wind, I listened immovable. Yet I loved Him.

  Three years ago He left us, a scattered company to sing His name, and to be His witnesses unto the nations.

  At that time I was called Thomas the Doubter. The shadow of my grandfather was still upon me, and always I would have truth made manifest.

  I would even put my hand in my own wound to feel the blood ere I would believe in my pain.

  Now a man who loves with his heart yet holds a doubt in his mind, is but a slave in a galley who sleeps at his oar and dreams of his freedom, till the lash of the master wakes him.

  I myself was that slave, and I dreamed of freedom, but the sleep of my grandfather was upon me. My flesh needed the whip of my own day.

  Even in the presence of the Nazarene I had closed my eyes to see my hands chained to the oar.

  Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.

  Doubt is a foundling unhappy and astray, and though his own mother who gave him birth should find him and enfold him, he would withdraw in caution and in fear.

  For Doubt will not know truth till his wounds are healed and restored.

  I doubted Jesus until He made Himself manifest to me, and thrust my own hand into His very wounds.

  Then indeed I believed, and after that I was rid of my yesterday and the yesterdays of my forefathers.

  The dead in me buried their dead; and the living shall live for the Anointed King, even for Him who was the Son of Man.

  Yesterday they told me that I must go and utter His name among the Persians and the Hindus.

  I shall go. And from this day to my last day, at dawn and at eventide, I shall see my Lord rising in majesty and I shall hear Him speak.

  ELMADAM THE LOGICIAN

  Jesus the Outcast

  You bid me speak of Jesus the Nazarene, and much have I to tell, but the time has not come. Yet whatever I say of Him now is the truth; for all speech is worthless save when it discloses the truth.

  Behold a man disorderly, against all order; a mendicant, opposed to all possessions; a drunkard who would only make merry with rogues and castaways.

  He was not the proud son of the State, nor was He the protected citizen of the Empire; therefore He had contempt for both State and Empire.

  He would live as free and dutiless as the fowls of the air, and for this the hunters brought Him to earth with arrows.

  No one shall open the flood gates of his ancestors without drowning. It is the law. And because the Nazarene broke the law, He and His witless followers were brought to naught.

  And there lived many others like Him, men who would change the course of our destiny.

  They themselves were changed, and they were the losers.

  There is a grapeless vine that grows by the city walls. It creeps upward and clings to the stones. Should that vine say in her heart, “With my might and my weight I shall destroy these walls,” what would other plants say? Surely they would laugh at her foolishness.

  Now sir, I cannot but laugh at this man and His ill-advised disciples.

  ONE OF THE MARYS

  On His Sadness and His Smile

  His head was always high, and the flame of God was in His eyes.

  He was often sad, but His sadness was tenderness shown to those in pain, and comradeship given to the lonely.

  When He smiled His smile was as the hunger of those who long after the unknown. It was like the dust of stars falling upon the eyelids of children. And it was like a morsel of bread in the throat.

  He was sad, yet it was a sadness that would rise to the lips and become a smile.

  It was like a golden veil in the forest when autumn is upon the world. And sometimes it seemed like moonlight upon the shores of the lake.

  He smiled as if H
is lips would sing at the wedding-feast.

  Yet He was sad with the sadness of the winged who will not soar above his comrade.

  RUMANOUS A GREEK POET

  Jesus the Poet

  He was a poet. He saw for our eyes and heard for our ears, and our silent words were upon His lips; and His fingers touched what we could not feel.

  Out of His heart there flew countless singing birds to the north and to the south, and the little flowers on the hill-sides stayed His steps towards the heavens.

  Oftentimes I have seen Him bending down to touch the blades of grass. And in my heart I have heard Him say: “Little green things, you shall be with me in my kingdom, even as the oaks of Besan, and the cedars of Lebanon.”

  He loved all things of loveliness, the shy faces of children, and the myrrh and frankincense from the south.

  He loved a pomegranate or a cup of wine given Him in kindness; it mattered not whether it was offered by a stranger in the inn or by a rich host.

  And He loved the almond blossoms. I have seen Him gathering them into His hands and covering His face with the petals, as though He would embrace with His love all the trees in the world.

  He knew the sea and the heavens; and He spoke of pearls which have light that is not of this light, and of stars that are beyond our night.

  He knew the mountains as eagles know them, and the valleys as they are known by the brooks and the streams. And there was a desert in His silence and a garden in His speech.

  Aye, He was a poet whose heart dwelt in a bower beyond the heights, and His songs though sung for our ears, were sung for other ears also, and to men in another land where life is for ever young and time is always dawn.

  Once I too deemed myself a poet, but when I stood before Him in Bethany, I knew what it is to hold an instrument with but a single string before one who commands all instruments. For in His voice there was the laughter of thunder and the tears of rain, and the joyous dancing of trees in the wind.

  And since I have known that my lyre has but one string, and that my voice weaves neither the memories of yesterday nor the hopes of tomorrow, I have put aside my lyre and I shall keep silence. But always at twilight I shall hearken, and I shall listen to the Poet who is the sovereign of all poets.

  LEVI A DISCIPLE

  On Those who would Confound Jesus

  Upon an eventide He passed by my house, and my soul was quickened within me.

  He spoke to me and said, “Come, Levi, and follow me.”

  And I followed Him that day.

  And at eventide of the next day I begged Him to enter my house and be my guest. And He and His friends crossed my threshold and blessed me and my wife and my children.

  And I had other guests. They were publicans and men of learning, but they were against Him in their hearts.

  And when we were sitting about the board, one of the publicans questioned Jesus, saying, “Is it true that you and your disciples break the law, and make fire on the Sabbath day?”

  And Jesus answered him saying, “We do indeed make fire on the Sabbath day. We would inflame the Sabbath day, and we would burn with our touch the dry stubble of all days.”

  And another publican said, “It was brought to us that you drink wine with the unclean at the inn.”

  And Jesus answered, “Aye, these also we would comfort. Came we here except to share the loaf and the cup with the uncrowned and the unshod amongst you?

  “Few, aye too few are the featherless who dare the wind, and many are the winged and full-fledged yet in the nest.

  “And we would feed them all with our beak, both the sluggish and the swift.”

  And another publican said, “Have I not been told that you would protect the harlots of Jerusalem?”

  Then in the face of Jesus I saw, as it were, the rocky heights of Lebanon, and He said, “It is true.

  “On the day of reckoning these women shall rise before the throne of my Father, and they shall be made pure by their own tears. But you shall be held down by the chains of your own judgment.

  “Babylon was not put to waste by her prostitutes; Babylon fell to ashes that the eyes of her hypocrites might no longer see the light of day.”

  And other publicans would have questioned Him, but I made a sign and bade them be silent, for I knew He would confound them; and they too were my guests, and I would not have them put to shame.

  When it was midnight the publicans left my house, and their souls were limping.

  Then I closed my eyes and I saw, as if in a vision, seven women in white raiment standing about Jesus. Their arms were crossed upon their bosoms, and their heads were bent down, and I looked deep into the mist of my dream and beheld the face of one of the seven women, and it shone in my darkness.

  It was the face of a harlot who lived in Jerusalem.

  Then I opened my eyes and looked at Him, and He was smiling at me and at the others who had not left the board.

  And I closed my eyes again, and I saw in a light seven men in white garments standing around Him. And I beheld the face of one of them.

  It was the face of the thief who was crucified afterward at His right hand.

  And later Jesus and His comrades left my house for the road.

  A WIDOW IN GALILEE

  Jesus the Cruel

  My son was my first and my only born. He laboured in our field and he was contented until he heard the man called Jesus speaking to the multitude.

  Then my son suddenly became different, as if a new spirit, foreign and unwholesome, had embraced his spirit.

  He abandoned the field and the garden; and he abandoned me also. He became worthless, a creature of the highways.

  That man Jesus of Nazareth was evil, for what good man would separate a son from his mother?

  The last thing my child said to me was this: “I am going with one of His disciples to the North Country. My life is established upon the Nazarene. You have given me birth, and for that I am grateful to you. But I needs must go. Am I not leaving with you our rich land, and all our silver and gold? I shall take naught but this garment and this staff.”

  Thus my son spoke, and departed.

  And now the Romans and the priests have laid hold upon Jesus and crucified Him; and they have done well.

  A man who would part mother and son could not be godly.

  The man who sends our children to the cities of the Gentiles cannot be our friend.

  I know my son will not return to me. I saw it in his eyes. And for this I hate Jesus of Nazareth who caused me to be alone in this unploughed field and this withered garden.

  And I hate all those who praise Him.

  Not many days ago they told me that Jesus once said, “My father and my mother and my brethren are those who hear my word and follow me.”

  But why should sons leave their mothers to follow His footsteps?

  And why should the milk of my breast be forgotten for a fountain not yet tasted? And the warmth of my arms be forsaken for the Northland, cold and unfriendly?

  Aye, I hate the Nazarene, and I shall hate Him to the end of my days, for He has robbed me of my first-born, my only son.

  JUDAS THE COUSIN OF JESUS

  On the Death of John the Baptist

  Upon a night in the month of August we were with the Master on a heath not far from the lake. The heath was called by the ancients the Meadow of Skulls.

  And Jesus was reclining on the grass and gazing at the stars.

  And of a sudden two men came rushing towards us breathless. They were as if in agony, and they fell prostrate at the feet of Jesus.

  And Jesus stood up and He said, “Whence came you?”

  And one of the men answered, “From Machaereus.”

  And Jesus looked upon him and was troubled, and He said, “What of John?”

  And the man said, “He was slain this day. He was beheaded in his prison cell.”

  Then Jesus lifted up His head. And then He walked a little way from us. After a while He stood again in our midst.<
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  And He said, “The king could have slain the prophet ere this day. Verily the king has tried the pleasure of His subjects. Kings of yore were not so slow in giving the head of a prophet to the head-hunters.

  “I grieve not for John, but rather for Herod, who let fall the sword. Poor king, like an animal caught and led with a ring and a rope.

  “Poor petty tetrarchs lost in their own darkness, they stumble and fall down. And what could you of the stagnant sea but dead fishes?”

  “I hate not kings. Let them rule men, but only when they are wiser than men.”

  And the Master looked at the two sorrowful faces and then He looked at us, and He spoke again and said, “John was born wounded, and the blood of his wounds streamed forth with his words. He was freedom not yet free from itself, and patient only with the straight and the just.

  “In truth he was a voice crying in the land of the deaf; and I loved him in his pain and his aloneness.

  “And I loved his pride that would give its head to the sword ere it would yield it to the dust.

  “Verily I say unto you that John, the son of Zachariah, was the last of his race, and like his forefathers he was slain between the threshold of the temple and the altar.”

  And again Jesus walked away from us.

  Then He returned and He said, “Forever it has been that those who rule for an hour would slay the rulers of years. And forever they would hold a trial and pronounce condemnation upon a man not yet born, and decree his death ere he commits the crime.

  “The son of Zachariah shall live with me in my kingdom and his day shall be long.”

  Then He turned to the disciples of John and said, “Every deed has its morrow. I myself may be the morrow of this deed. Go back to my friend’s friends, and tell them I shall be with them.”

  And the two men walked away from us, and they seemed less heavy-hearted.

  Then Jesus laid Himself down again upon the grass and outstretched His arms, and again He gazed at the stars.