When night came, his lips and tongue were parched, while his hand was still as empty as his stomach.
He gathered himself and went out from the city, where he sat under a tree and wept bitterly. Then he lifted his puzzled eyes to heaven while hunger was eating his inside, and he said, “Oh Lord, I went to the rich man and asked for employment, but he turned away because of my shabbiness; I knocked at the school door, but was forbidden solace because I was empty-handed; I sought any occupation that would give me bread, but all to no avail. In desperation I asked alms, but Thy worshippers saw me and said, “He is strong and lazy, and he should not beg.”
“Oh Lord, it is Thy will that my mother gave birth unto me, and now the earth offers me back to You before the Ending.”
His expression then changed. He arose and his eyes now glittered in determination. He fashioned a thick and heavy stick from the branch of the tree, and pointed it toward the city, shouting, “I asked for bread with all the strength of my voice, and was refused. Now I shall obtain it by the strength of my muscles! I asked for bread in the name of mercy and love, but humanity did not heed. I shall take it now in the name of evil!”
The passing years rendered the youth a robber, killer, and destroyer of souls; he crushed all who opposed him; he amassed fabulous wealth with which he won himself over to those in power. He was admired by colleagues, envied by other thieves, and feared by the multitudes.
His riches and false position prevailed upon the Emir to appoint him deputy in that city—the sad process pursued by unwise governors. Thefts were then legalized; oppression was supported by authority; crushing of the weak became commonplace; the throngs curried and praised.
Thus does the first touch of humanity’s selfishness make criminals of the humble, and make killers of the sons of peace; thus does the early greed of humanity grow and strike back at humanity a thousandfold!
HAVE MERCY ON ME,
MY SOUL!
WHY ARE you weeping, my Soul?
Knowest thou my weakness?
Thy tears strike sharp and injure,
For I know not my wrong.
Until when shalt thou cry?
I have naught but human words
To interpret your dreams,
Your desires, and your instructions.
Look upon me, my Soul; I have
Consumed my full life heeding
Your teachings. Think of how
I suffer! I have exhausted my
Life following you.
My heart was glorying upon the
Throne, but is now yoked in slavery;
My patience was a companion, but
Now contends against me;
My youth was my hope, but
Now reprimands my neglect.
Why, my Soul, are you all-demanding?
I have denied myself pleasure
And deserted the joy of life
Following the course which you
Impelled me to pursue.
Be just to me, or call Death
To unshackle me,
For justice is your glory.
Have mercy on me, my Soul.
You have laden me with Love until
I cannot carry my burden. You and
Love are inseparable might; Substance
And I are inseparable weakness.
Will e’er the struggle cease
Between the strong and the weak?
Have mercy on me, my Soul.
You have shown me Fortune beyond
My grasp. You and Fortune abide on
The mountain top; Misery and I are
Abandoned together in the pit of
The valley. Will e’er the mountain
And the valley unite?
Have mercy on me, my Soul.
You have shown me Beauty, but then
Concealed her. You and Beauty live
In the light; Ignorance and I are
Bound together in the dark. Will
E’er the light invade darkness?
Your delight comes with the Ending,
And you revel now in anticipation;
But this body suffers with life
While in life.
This, my Soul, is perplexing.
You are hastening toward Eternity,
But this body goes slowly toward
Perishment. You do not wait for him,
And he cannot go quickly.
This, my Soul, is sadness.
You ascend high, through heaven’s
Attraction, but this body falls by
Earth’s gravity. You do not console
Him, and he does not appreciate you.
This, my Soul, is misery.
You are rich in wisdom, but this
Body is poor in understanding.
You do not compromise
And he does not obey.
This, my Soul, is extreme suffering.
In the silence of the night you visit
The Beloved and enjoy the sweetness of
His presence. This body ever remains
The bitter victim of hope and separation.
This, my Soul, is agonizing torture.
Have mercy on me, my Soul!
THE WIDOW AND HER SON
NIGHT fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from the streets while silence engulfed the night.
In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother.
A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little boy took fright. He threw his arms about his mother, seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took him to her bosom and kissed him; then she sat him on her lap and said, “Do not fear, my son, for Nature is but comparing her great power to man’s weakness. There is a Supreme Being beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing wind, and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and He looks upon the weak with merciful eyes.
“Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer and yawns in Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears she waters life, hidden under the earth.
“Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. The snow and thunder bring us closer to him at this time.
“Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, keeps the seeds warm, and these warlike things will produce beautiful flowers when Nisan comes.
“Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and revealing separation, and bitter patience, and desperate hardship. Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find your soul who is unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost.”
The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and said, “Mother, my eyes are heavy, but I cannot go to sleep without saying my prayer.”
The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by misted eyes, and said, “Repeat with me, my boy—‘God, have mercy on the poor and protect them from the winter; warm their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon the orphans who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord, the call of widows who are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, oh Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery of the weak. Have mercy upon the sufferers who knock on doors, and lead the wayfarers into warm places. Watch, oh Lord, over the little birds and protect the trees and fields from the anger of the storm; for Thou art merciful and full of love.’”
As Slumber captured the boy’s spirit, his mother placed him in the bed and kissed his eyes with quivering lips. Then she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool to make him raiment.
EVENTIDE OF THE FEAST
NIGHT had fallen and obscurity engulfed the city while the lights glittered in t
he palaces and the huts and the shops. The multitudes, wearing their festive raiment, crowded the streets and upon their faces appeared the signs of celebration and contentment.
I avoided the clamour of the throngs and walked alone, contemplating the Man Whose greatness they were honouring, and meditating the Genius of the Ages Who was born in poverty, and lived virtuously, and died on the Cross.
I was pondering the burning torch which was lighted in this humble village in Syria by the Holy Spirit.… The Holy Spirit Who hovers over all the ages, and penetrates one civilization and then another through His truth.
As I reached the public garden, I seated myself on a rustic bench and commenced looking between the naked trees toward the crowded streets; I listened to the hymns and songs of the celebrants.
After an hour of deep thinking, I looked sidewise and was surprised to find a man sitting by me, holding a short branch with which he engraved vague figures on the ground. I was startled, for I had not seen nor heard his approach, but I said within myself, “He is solitary, as I am.” And after looking thoroughly at him, I saw that in spite of his old-fashioned raiment and long hair, he was a dignified man, worthy of attention. It seemed that he detected the thoughts within me, for in a deep and quiet voice he said, “Good evening, my son.”
“Good evening to you,” I responded with respect.
And he resumed his drawing while the strangely soothing sound of his voice was still echoing in my ears. And I spoke to him again, saying, “Are you a stranger in this city?”
“Yes, I am a stranger in this city and every city,” he replied. I consoled him, adding, “A stranger should forget that he is an outsider in these holidays, for there is kindness and generosity in the people.” He replied wearily, “I am more a stranger in these days than in any other.” Having thus spoken, he looked at the clear skies; his eyes probed the stars and his lips quivered as if he had found in the firmament an image of a distant country. His queer statement aroused my interest, and I said, “This is the time of the year when the people are kind to all other people. The rich remember the poor and the strong have compassion for the weak.”
He returned, “Yes, the momentary mercy of the rich upon the poor is bitter, and the sympathy of the strong toward the weak is naught but a reminder of superiority.”
I affirmed, “Your words have merit, but the weak poor do not care to know what transpires in the heart of the rich, and the hungry never think of the method by which the bread he is craving is kneaded and baked.”
And he responded, “The one who receives is not mindful, but the one who gives bears the burden of cautioning himself that it is with a view to brotherly love, and toward friendly aid, and not to self-esteem.”
I was amazed at his wisdom, and again commenced to meditate upon his ancient appearance and strange garments. Then I returned mentally and said, “It appears that you are in need of help; will you accept a few coins from me?” And with a sad smile he answered me, saying, “Yes, I am in desperate need, but not of gold or silver.”
Puzzled, I asked, “What is it that you require?”
“I am in need of shelter. I am in need of a place where I can rest my head and my thoughts.”
“Please accept these two denars and go to the inn for lodging,” I insisted.
Sorrowfully he answered, “I have tried every inn, and knocked at every door, but in vain. I have entered every food shop, but none cared to help me. I am hurt, not hungry; I am disappointed, not tired; I seek not a roof, but human shelter.”
I said within myself, “What a strange person he is! Once he talks like a philosopher and again like a madman!” As I whispered these thoughts into the ears of my inner self, he stared at me, lowered his voice to a sad level, and said, “Yes, I am a madman, but even a madman will find himself a stranger without shelter and hungry without food, for the heart of man is empty.”
I apologized to him, saying, “I regret my unwitting thought. Would you accept my hospitality and take shelter in my quarters?”
“I knocked at your door and all the doors one thousand times, and received no answer,” he answered severely.
Now I was convinced that he was truly a madman, and I suggested, “Let us go now, and proceed to my home.”
He lifted his head slowly and said, “If you were aware of my identity you would not invite me to your home.”
“Who are you?” I inquired, fearfully, slowly.
With a voice that sounded like the roar of the ocean, he thundered, bitterly, “I am the revolution who builds what the nations destroy.… I am the tempest who uproots the plants, grown by the ages.… I am the one who came to spread war on earth and not peace, for man is content only in misery!”
And, with tears coursing down his cheeks, he stood up high, and a mist of light grew about him, and he stretched forth his arms, and I saw the marks of the nails in the palms of his hands; I prostrated myself before him convulsively and cried out, saying, “Oh Jesus, the Nazarene!”
And He continued, in anguish, “The people are celebrating in My honour, pursuing the tradition woven by the ages around My name, but as to Myself, I am a stranger wandering from East to West upon this earth, and no one knows of Me. The foxes have their holes, and the birds of the skies their nests, but the Son of Man has no place to rest His head.”
At that moment, I opened my eyes, lifted my head, and looked around, but found naught except a column of smoke before me, and I heard only the shivering voice of the silence of the night, coming from the depths of Eternity. I collected myself and looked again to the singing throngs in the distance, and a voice within me said, “The very strength that protects the heart from injury is the strength that prevents the heart from enlarging to its intended greatness within. The song of the voice is sweet, but the song of the heart is the pure voice of heaven.”
SONG OF THE WAVE
THE STRONG SHORE is my beloved
And I am his sweetheart.
We are at last united by love, and
Then the moon draws me from him.
I go to him in haste and depart
Reluctantly, with many
Little farewells.
I steal swiftly from behind the
Blue horizon to cast the silver of
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and
We blend in melted brilliance.
I quench his thirst and submerge his
Heart; he softens my voice and subdues
My temper.
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon
His ears, and he embraces me longingly.
At eventide I sing to him the song of
Hope, and then print smooth kisses upon
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.
As the tide comes we caress each other,
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in
Prayer.
Many times have I danced around mermaids
As they rose from the depths and rested
Upon my crest to watch the stars;
Many times have I heard lovers complain
Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh.
Many times have I teased the great rocks
And fondled them with a smile, but never
Have I received laughter from them;
Many times have I lifted drowning souls
And carried them tenderly to my beloved
Shore. He gives them strength as he
Takes mine.
Many times have I stolen gems from the
Depths and presented them to my beloved
Shore. He takes in silence, but still
I give for he welcomes me ever.
In the heaviness of night, when all
Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I
Sit up, singing at one time and sighing
At another. I am awake always.
Alas! Sleeplessness has
weakened me!
But I am a lover, and the truth of love
Is strong.
I may weary, but I shall never die.
IRAM, CITY OF LOFTY
PILLARS
TRANSLATOR’S PROLOGUE
“Seest thou not how thy God
Dealt with Ad of Iram, with
Lofty pillars, the like of
Which were not produced in
All of existence?”
The Holy Quran.
THE AD PEOPLE, with their Prophet Hud, are cited often in the Holy Quran, and their traditions belong to ancient Arabia. Their eponymous ancestor Ad was fourth in generation from Noah, having been a son of Aus, who was the son of Aram, who was the son of Shem, who was the first son of Noah.
They occupied a great tract of southern Arabia, extending from Umman at the mouth of the Persian Gulf to Hadramaut and Yemen at the southern end of the Red Sea, and the long, twisting areas of ahqaf (sands) in their domain were irrigated by canals.
The people were of great physical stature, and were excellent masons and builders. However, as so often happens, their vast advancements resulted in the forsaking of the true God, and the leaders anguished the people with oppression in its most severe state.
A three year famine visited them, but they took no warning, and at length a terrible and tremendous blast of searing wind destroyed them and their civilization. A remnant, known as the Second Ad, or Thamud, salvaged itself and survived, but later suffered a similar fate, presumably because of the sins of the people.
The tomb of the Prophet Hud (Qabr Nabi Hud) is still shown to visitors in Hadramaut, latitude 16 degrees north, longitude 49½ degrees east, about 90 miles north of Mukalla. Ruins and inscriptions abound in the general vicinity, and there is an annual pilgrimage to this site in the month of Rajab*
Iram appears to have been an ancient Ad capital in southern Arabia, and it boasted lofty architecture. Controversially, some archaeologists and historians believe Iram to be the name of an individual hero of the Ad, and if this be true, the descriptive phrase “lofty pillars” applies not to the edifices, but to the people themselves, for the Ad were a tall race.
This sector, sometimes called Arabia Felix, is a source of interest, devotion and prosperity to many Arabs, for in its many ancient remains, numerous objects of historical, religious, and monetary value have been found. In the time of Muawiya a rich cache of precious stones was discovered, and more recently some gold, silver, and bronze pieces of statuary bearing Sabaean inscriptions came to light in Najram. These have been described in detail in the British Museum Quarterly, Volume 4, September 1937.
The Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran Page 9
