Treasury of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  He became silent, while his anxiety grew and his spirit exulted. Then he continued, “Oh, that which the soul reveals, and the night conceals.… Oh, beautiful spirit, hovering in the sky of my dream; you have awakened in me a dormant fullness, like healthy seeds hidden under the blankets of snow; you have passed me like a frolicsome breeze carrying to my hungry self the fragrance of the flowers of heaven; you have touched my senses and agitated and quivered them like the leaves of the trees. Let me look upon you now if you are a human, or command Slumber to shut my eyes so I can view your vastness through my inner being. Let me touch you; let me hear your voice. Tear away this veil that conceals my entire purpose, and destroy this wall that hides my deity from my clearing eyes, and place upon me a pair of wings so I may fly behind you to the halls of the Supreme Universe. Or bewitch my eyes so I may follow you to the ambush of the genii if you are one of their brides. If I am worthy, place your hand upon my heart and possess me.”

  Ali was whispering these words into the mystic darkness, and before him crept the ghosts of night, as if they were vapour coming from his boiling tears. Upon the walls of the temple he fancied magical pictures painted with the brush of the rainbow.

  Thus did one hour pass, with Ali shedding tears and reveling in his miserable plight and hearing the beats of his heart, looking beyond the objects as if he were observing the images of Life vanishing slowly and being replaced with a dream, strange in its beauty and terrible in enormity. Like a prophet who meditates the stars of heaven awaiting the Descent and Revelation, he pondered the power existing beyond these contemplations. He felt that his spirit left him and probed through the temples for a priceless but unknown segment of himself, lost among the ruins.

  Dawn had appeared and silence roared with the passing of the breeze; the first rays of light raced through, illuminating the particles of the ether, and the sky smiled like a dreamer viewing his beloved’s phantom. The birds probed from their sanctuary in the crevices of the walls and emerged into the halls of the columns, singing their morning prayers.

  Ali placed his cupped hand over his forehead, looking downward with glazed eyes. Like Adam, when God opened his eyes with Almighty breath, Ali saw new objects, strange and fantastic. Then he approached his sheep and called to them, whereupon they followed him quietly toward the lush fields. He led them, as he gazed at the sky like a philosopher divining and meditating the secrets of the Universe. He reached a brook whose murmuring was soothing to the spirit, and he sat by the edge of the spring under the willow tree, whose branches dipped over the water as if drinking from the cool depths. The dew of dawn glistened upon the sheep’s wool as they grazed amid flowers and green grass.

  In a few moments Ali again felt that his heartbeats were increasing rapidly and his spirit commenced to vibrate violently, almost visibly. Like a mother suddenly awakened from her slumber by the scream of her child, he bolted from his position, and as his eyes were compelled to her, he saw a beautiful maiden carrying an earthenware container upon her shoulder, slowly approaching the far side of the brook. As she reached the edge and leaned forward to fill the jar, she glanced across, and her eyes met Ali’s eyes. As if in insanity she cried out, dropped the jar, and withdrew swiftly. Then she turned, gazing at Ali with anxious, agonizing disbelief.

  A minute passed, whose seconds were glittering lamps illuminating their hearts and spirits, and silence brought vague remembrance, revealing to them images and scenes far away from that brook and those trees. They heard each other in the understanding silence, listening tearfully to each other’s sighs of heart and soul until complete knowing prevailed between the two.

  Ali, still compelled by a mysterious power, leaped across the brook and approached the maiden, embraced her and printed a long kiss upon her lips. As if the sweetness of Ali’s caress had usurped her will, she did not move, and the kind touch of Ali’s arms had stolen her strength. She yielded to him as the fragrance of jasmine concedes to the vibration of the breeze, carrying it into the spacious firmament.

  She placed her head upon his chest like a tortured person who has found rest. She sighed deeply … a sigh that announced the rebirth of happiness in a torn heart and proclaimed a revolution of wings that had ascended after having been injured and committed to earth.

  She raised her head and looked at him with her soul … the look of a human which, in mighty silence, belittles the conventional words used amongst mankind; the expression which offers myriads of thoughts in the unspoken language of the hearts. She bore the look of a person who accepts Love not as a spirit in a body of words, but as a reunion occurring long after two souls were divided by earth and joined by God.

  The enamoured couple walked amidst the willow trees, and the singleness of two selves was a speaking tongue for their unification; a seeing eye for the glory of Happiness; a silent listener to the tremendous revelation of Love.

  The sheep continued grazing, and the birds of the sky still hovered above their heads, singing the song of Dawn, following the emptiness of night. As they reached the end of the valley the sun appeared, spreading a golden garment upon the knolls and the hills, and they sat by the side of a rock where the violets hid. The maiden looked into Ali’s black eyes while the breeze caressed her hair, as if the shimmering wisps were fingertips craving for sweet kisses. She felt as though some magic and strong gentleness were touching her lips in spite of her will, and with a serene and charming voice she said, “Ishtar has restored both of our spirits to this life from another, so we may not be denied the joy of Love and the glory of Youth, my beloved.”

  Ali closed his eyes, as if her musical voice brought to him images of a dream he had seen, and he felt an invisible pair of wings carrying him from that place and depositing him in a strange chamber by the side of a bed upon which lay the corpse of a maiden whose beauty had been claimed by Death. He cried fearfully, then opened his eyes and found that same maiden sitting by his side, and upon her lips appeared a smile. Her eyes shone with the rays of Life. Ali’s face brightened and his heart was refreshed. The phantom of his vision withdrew slowly until he forgot completely the past and its cares. The two lovers embraced and drank the wine of sweet kisses together until they became intoxicated. They slumbered, wrapped between each other’s arms, until the last remnant of the shadow was dispersed by the Eternal Power which had awakened them.

  * The Hosseinese are groups comprising an Arabian tribe, at present living in tents pitched in the plains surrounding the ruins of Baalbek. (Editor’s note.)

  BETWEEN NIGHT AND MORN

  BE SILENT, my heart, for the space cannot

  Hear you; be silent, for the ether is

  Laden with cries and moans, and cannot

  Carry your songs and hymns.

  Be silent, for the phantoms of the night

  Will not give heed to the whispering of

  Your secrets; nor will the processions

  Of darkness halt before your dreams.

  Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes,

  For he who patiently awaits the morn

  Will meet him surely, and he who loves

  The light will be loved by the light.

  Be silent, my heart, and hearken to my

  Story; in my dream I saw a nightingale

  Singing over the throat of a fiery

  Volcano, and I saw a lily raising her

  Head above the snow, and a naked Houri

  Dancing in the midst of the graves, and

  An infant playing with skulls while

  Laughing.

  I saw all these images in my dream, and

  When I opened my eyes and looked about

  Me, I saw the volcano still raging, but

  No longer heard the nightingale sing;

  Nor did I see him hovering.

  I saw the sky spreading snow upon the

  Fields and valleys, and concealing under

  White shrouds the stilled bodies of the

  Lilies. I saw a row of graves before

 
; The silence of the Ages, but there was

  No person dancing or praying in their

  Midst. I saw a heap of skulls, but no

  One was there to laugh, save the wind.

  In my awakeness I saw grief and sorrow;

  What became of the joy and sweetness of

  My dream? Where has the beauty of my

  Dream gone, and in what manner did the

  Images disappear?

  How can the soul be patient until Slumber

  Restores the happy phantoms of hope and

  Desire?

  Give heed, my heart, and hear my story;

  Yesterday my soul was like an old and

  Strong tree, whose roots grasped into the

  Depths of the earth, and whose branches

  Reached the Infinite. My soul blossomed

  In Spring, and gave fruit in Summer, and

  When Autumn came, I gathered the fruit on

  A silver tray and placed it by the

  Walker’s portion of the street; and all

  Who passed partook willingly and continued

  To walk.

  And when Autumn passed away, and submerged

  His rejoicing under wailing and lamentation,

  I looked upon my tray and found but one

  Fruit remaining; I took it and placed it

  Into my mouth, but found it bitter as gall,

  And sour as the hard grapes, and I said to

  Myself, “Woe to me, for I have placed a

  Curse in the mouths of the people, and an

  Ailment in their bodies. What have you

  Done, my soul, with the sweet sap which

  Your roots have sucked from the earth, and

  The fragrance which you have drawn from

  The sky?” In anger did I tear the strong

  And old tree of my soul, with each of the

  Struggling roots, from the depths of the

  Earth.

  I uprooted it from the past, and took

  From it the memories of one thousand

  Springs and one thousand Autumns, and I

  Planted the tree of my soul in another

  Place. It was now in a field afar from

  The path of Time; and I tended it in day

  And in night, saying within me, “Wakefulness

  Will bring us closer to the stars.”

  I watered it with blood and tears, saying,

  “There is a flavour in blood, and a

  Sweetness in tears.” When Spring returned,

  My tree bloomed again, and in the Summer it

  Bore fruit. And when Autumn came, I gathered

  All the ripe fruit upon a golden plate and

  Offered it in the public path, and the people

  Passed but none desired my fruit.

  Then I took one fruit and brought it to my

  Lips, and it was sweet as the honeycomb

  And exhilarating as the wine of Babylon

  And fragrant as the jasmine. And I cried

  Out, saying, “The people do not want a

  Blessing in their mouths, nor a truth in

  Their hearts, for Blessing is the daughter

  Of Tears, and Truth is the son of Blood.”

  I left the noisome city to sit in the shadow

  Of the solitary tree of my soul, in a

  Field far from life’s path.

  Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes;

  Be silent and attend my story;

  Yesterday my thoughts were a boat sailing

  Amidst the waves in the sea, and moving

  With the winds from one land to another.

  And my boat was empty except of seven

  Jars of rainbow colours; and the time

  Came when I grew weary of moving about

  On the face of the sea, and I said to

  Myself, “I shall return with the empty

  Boat of my thoughts to the harbour of the

  Isle of my birth.”

  And I prepared by colouring my boat yellow

  Like the sunset, and green like the heart

  Of Spring, and blue like the sky, and red

  Like the anemone. And on the masts and

  On the rudder I drew strange figures that

  Compelled the attention and dazzled the

  Eye. And as I ended my task, the boat of

  My thoughts seemed as a prophetic vision,

  Sailing between the two infinities, the

  Sea and the sky.

  I entered the harbour of the isle of my

  Birth, and the people surged to meet me

  With singing and merriment. And the

  Throngs invited me to enter the city;

  And they were plucking their instruments

  And sounding their tambourines.

  Such welcome was mine because my boat

  Was beautifully decorated, and none

  Entered and saw the interior of the

  Boat of my thoughts, nor asked what

  I had brought from beyond the seas. Nor

  Could they observe that I had brought

  My boat back empty, for its brilliance

  Had rendered them blind. Thereupon I

  Said within myself, “I have led the

  People astray, and with seven jars of

  Colours I have cheated their eyes.”

  Thereafter, I embarked in the boat of

  My thoughts, again to set sail. I

  Visited the East Islands and gathered

  Myrrh, frankincense and sandalwood, and

  Placed them in my boat.… I roamed the

  West Islands and brought ivory and ruby

  And emerald and many rare gems.… I

  Journeyed the South Islands and carried

  Back with me beautiful armours and

  Glittering swords and spears and all

  Varieties of weapons.… I filled the

  Boat of my thoughts with the choicest

  And most precious things on earth, and

  Returned to the harbour of the isle of

  My birth, saying, “The people shall again

  Glorify me, but with honesty, and they

  Shall again invite me to enter their

  City, but with merit.”

  And when I reached the harbour, none

  Came to meet me.… I walked the streets

  Of my earlier glory but no person looked

  Upon me.… I stood in the market place

  Shouting to the people of the treasures

  In my boat, and they mocked at me and

  Heeded not.

  I returned to the harbour with spiritless

  Heart and disappointment and confusion.

  And when I gazed upon my boat, I observed

  A thing which I had not seen during my

  Voyage, and I exclaimed, “The waves of

  The sea have done away with the colours and

  The figures on my boat and caused it to look

  Like a skeleton.” The winds and the spray

  Together with the burning sun had effaced

  The brilliant hues and my boat looked now

  Like tattered grey raiment. I could not

  Observe these changes from amid my treasures,

  For I had blinded my eyes from the inside.

  I had gathered the most precious things on

  Earth and placed them in a floating chest

  Upon the face of the water and returned to

  My people, but they cast me away and could

  Not see me, for their eyes had been allured

  By empty, shimmering objects.

  At that hour I left the boat of my thoughts

  For the City of the Dead, and sat in the

  Midst of the trim graves, contemplating

  Their secrets.

  Be silent, my heart, until Dawn comes; be

  Silent, for the raging tempest is ridiculing

  Your inner whispering, and the caves of

 
; The valleys do not echo the vibration of

  Your strings.

  Be silent, my heart, until Morn comes,

  For he who awaits patiently the coming

  Of Dawn will be embraced longingly by

  Morningtide.

  Dawn is breaking. Speak if you are able,

  My heart. Here is the procession of

  Morningtide.… Why do you not speak?

  Has not the silence of the night left

  A song in your inner depths with which

  You may meet Dawn?

  Here are the swarms of doves and the

  Nightingales moving in the far portion

  Of the valley. Are you capable of flying

  With the birds, or has the horrible night

  Weakened your wings? The shepherds are

  Leading the sheep from their folds; has

  The phantom of the night left strength

  In you so you may walk behind them to

  The green prairies? The young men and

  Women are walking gracefully toward the

  Vineyards. Will you be able to stand

  And walk with them? Rise, my heart, and

  Walk with Dawn, for the night has passed,

  And the fear of darkness has vanished with

  Its black dreams and ghastly thoughts and

  Insane travels.

  Rise, my heart, and raise your voice with

  Music, for he who shares not Dawn with

  His songs is one of the sons of ever-

  Darkness.

  HONEYED POISON

  IT WAS a beautiful morn of dizzying brilliance in North Lebanon when the people of the village of Tula gathered around the portico of the small church that stood in the midst of their dwellings. They were discussing busily the sudden and unexplained departure of Farris Rahal, who left behind his bride of but half a year.

  Farris Rahal was the Sheik and leader of the village, and he had inherited this honourable status from his ancestors who had ruled over Tula for centuries. Although he was not quite twenty-seven years of age, he possessed an outstanding ability and sincerity that won the admiration, reverence, and respect of all the fellahin. When Farris married Susan, the people commented upon him, saying, “What a fortunate man is Farris Rahal! He has attained all that man can hope for in the bounty of life’s happiness, and he is but a youth!”

  That morning, when all of Tula arose from slumber and learned that the Sheik had gathered his gold, mounted his steed and left the village bidding none farewell, curiosity and concern prevailed, and inquiries were many as to the cause that prompted him to desert his wife and his home, his lands and his vineyards.