Tell them that the Golden City was erected by the giants of the ages from the glittering elements of existence, and concealed it not from the people, but the people cornered themselves from it. And tell them that the one who loses his way before reaching Iram must cast blame upon the guide, and not upon the rough, hard road. Tell them that the one who does not light his lamp of truth will find the road dark and impassable. (Amena looks to heaven with love in her eyes, and her face emanates sweetness and peace).

Najeeb: (Approaches Amena slowly, with head bent low, takes her hand and whispers): It is eventide, and I must return to the dwellings of the people before darkness engulfs the road.

Amena: Under God’s direction, you will find your way in light.

Najeeb: I shall walk in the light of the great torch you have placed in my trembling hand.

Amena: Walk in the light of Truth, which cannot be extinguished by the tempest. (Amena looks long and intently at Najeeb, her countenance bearing the love of a mother. Then she leaves to the east, and walks amid the trees until she disappears from view).

Zain: May I accompany you to the vicinity of the people?

Najeeb: With pleasure to me. I believed, however, that you lived close by Amena Divine. I envied you, saying within myself, “Would that I were to abide here.”

Zain: We can live afar from the sun, but we cannot live close to the sun; yet, we need the sun. I come here often to be blessed and advised, and then I depart contented. (Najeeb unties the rein and, leading his horse, walks off with Zain Abedeen.)

(Curtain)

*Bibliography: “Hadramaut—its Mysteries Unveiled,” by D. Van Der Meulen and H. Von Wissman, Leyden, 1932. (Editor’s note.)

*The zealous Christian in the Near East is taught that it is a sin to repeat any prayer belonging to the Islamic religion. (Editor’s note.)

The Day of My Birth

The Day of My Birth

IT WAS on this day of the year that my

Mother brought me into the world; on

This day, a quarter-century past, the

Great silence placed me between the arms

Of Existence, replete with lamentation

And tears and conflicts.

Twenty five times have I encircled the

Blazing sun, and many times more has the

Moon encircled my smallness; yet, I have

Not learned the secrets of light, neither

Do I comprehend the mystery of darkness.

I have journeyed these twenty five years

With the earth and the sun and the planets

Through the Supreme Infinite; yet, my soul

Yearns for understanding of the Eternal Law

As the hollow grotto reverberates with the

Echo of the waves of the sea, but never fills.

Life exists through the existence of the

Heavenly system, but is not aware of the

Unbounded might of the firmament; and the

Soul sings the praise of the ebb and flow

Of a heavenly melody, but does not perceive

Its meaning.

Twenty five years past, the hand of Time

Recorded my being, and I am a living page

In the book of the universe; yet, I am now

But naught; but a vague word with meaning

Of complication symbolizing now nothing,

And then many things.

Meditations and memories, on this day of

Each year, congest my soul and halt the

Procession of life, revealing to me the

Phantoms of wasted nights, and sweeping

Them away as the great wind disperses the

Thin cloud from the horizon. And they

Vanish in the obscured corner of my hut

As the murmur of the narrow stream must

Vanish in the distant, broadened valley.

On this day of each year, the spirits

Which have fashioned my soul visit with

Me from all of Eternity and gather about

Me, chanting the sorrowful hymns of memories.

Then they retreat swiftly and disappear

Behind the visible objects like a flock of

Birds descending upon a deserted threshing

Floor whereupon they find no seeds; they

Hover in disappointment and depart quickly

For a more rewarding place.

On this day I meditate upon the past,

Whose purpose puzzles me in mind and

Confuses me in heart, and I look

Upon it as I look into a hazy mirror

In which I see naught but death-like

Countenances upon the past years.

As I gaze again, I see my own self

Staring upon my sorrowful self, and

I question Sorrow but find him mute.

Sorrow, if able to speak, would

Prove sweeter than the joy of song.

During my twenty five years of life

I have loved many things, and often

I loved that which the people hated,

And loathed that which the people

Loved.

And that which I loved when I was a

Child, I still love, and shall continue

To love forevermore. The power to

Love is God’s greatest gift to man,

For it never will be taken from the

Blessed one who loves.

I love death, and entitle it with

Sweet names, and praise it with

Loving words, secretly and to the

Throngs of taunting listeners.

Although I have not renounced my great

Allegiance to death, I became deeply

Enamoured with life also, for life and

Death are equal to me in charm and

Sweetness and attraction, and they

Have joined hands in fostering in me

My longings and affections, and in

Sharing with me my love and suffering.

I love freedom, and my love for true

Freedom grew with my growing knowledge

Of the people’s surrender to slavery

And oppression and tyranny, and of

Their submission to the horrible idols

Erected by the past ages and polished

By the parched lips of the slaves.

But I love those slaves with my love

For freedom, for they blindly kissed

The jaws of ferocious beasts in calm

And blissful unawareness, feeling not

The venom of the smiling vipers, and

Unknowingly digging their graves with

Their own fingers.

My love for freedom is my greatest love,

For I have found it to be a lovely

Maiden, frailed by aloneness and

Withered by solitude until she became

As a spectre wandering in the midst

Of the dwellings unrecognized and

Unwelcome, and stopping by the waysides

And calling to the wayfarers who did

Not offer heed.

During this score and five years I have

Loved happiness as all men love happiness.

I was in constant search of her but did

Not find her in man’s pathway; nor did

I observe the imprints of her footsteps

Upon the sand before man’s palaces;

Neither did I hear the echo of her voice

From the windows of man’s temples.

I sought happiness in my solitude, and

As I drew close to her I heard my soul

Whisper into my heart, saying, “The

Happiness you seek is a virgin, born

And reared in the depths of each heart,

And she emerges not from her birthplace.”

And when I opened my heart to find her,

I discovered in its domain only her

Mirror and her cradle and her raiment,

And happiness was not there.

I love mankind and I love equally all

Three human kinds … the one who

Blasphemes life, the one who blesses

It, and the one who meditates upon it.

I love the first for his misery and

The second for his generosity and the

Third for his perception and peace.

*    *    *    *    *

Thus, with love, did five and twenty

Years race into nothingness, and thus

Swiftly sped the days and the nights,

Falling from the roadway of my life

And fluttering away like the drying

Leaves of the trees before the winds of

Autumn.

Today I stopped on my road, like the

Weary traveler who has not reached his

Destination but seeks to ascertain his

Position. I look in every direction, but

Cannot find trace of any part of my past

At which I might point and say, “This is

Mine!”

Nor can I reap harvest from the seasons

Of my years, for my bins boast only

These parchments upon which the black

Ink is traced, and these paintings,

Upon which appear simple lines and colours.

With these papers and pictures I have

Succeeded only in shrouding and burying

My love and my thoughts and my dreams,

Even as the sower buries the seeds in

The heart of the earth.

But when the sower sows the seeds in

The heart of the earth he returns home

At eventide, hoping and waiting for

The day of harvest; but I have sown

The inner seeds of my heart in despair,

And hoping and waiting are in vain.

And now, since I have made my five and

Twenty journeys about the sun, I look

Upon the past from behind a deep veil

Of sighs and sorrows, and the silent

Future enlightens itself to me only

Through the sad lamp of the past.

I stare at the universe through the

Transom of my hut and behold the faces

Of men, and hear their voices rise into

Space and hear their footsteps falling

Into the stones; and I perceive the

Revelations of their spirits and the

Vibrations of their desires and the

Throbbings of their hearts.

And I see the children, running and

Laughing and playing and crying; and

I observe the youths walking with their

Heads lifted upward as if reading and

Singing the Kaseeda of youth between

The margins of their eyes, lined with

The radiant rays of the sun.

And I behold the maidens, who are walking

Gracefully and swaying like tender

Branches, and smiling like flowers, and

Gazing upon the youths from behind the

Quivering eyes of love.

And I see the aged walking slowly with

Bent backs, leaning upon their walking

Staffs, staring at the earth as though

Seeking there a treasure lost in youth.

I observe these images and phantoms

Moving and crawling in the paths and

Roadways of the city.

Then I look beyond the city and meditate

Upon the wilderness and its revered

Beauty and its speaking silence; its

Knolls and valleys and lofty trees; its

Fragrant flowers and brisk brooks and

Singing birds.

Then I look beyond the wilderness and

Contemplate the sea with all the magical

Wonders and secrets of its depths, and

The foaming and raging waves of its

Surface. The depths are calm.

Then I gaze beyond the ocean and see the

Infinite sky with its glittering stars;

And its suns and moons and planets; its

Gigantic forces and its myriad elements

That comply unerringly with a great

Law possessing neither a beginning nor

An ending.

Upon these things I ponder from between

My walls, forgetting my twenty five

Years and all the years which preceded

Them and all the centuries to come.

*     *    *    *    *

At this moment my own existence and

All of my environs seem as the weak

Sigh of a small child trembling in the

Deep and eternal emptiness of a supreme

And boundless space.

But this insignificant entity …

This self which is myself, and whose

Motion and clamour I hear constantly,

Is now lifting strengthening wings

Toward the spacious firmament,

Extending hands in all directions,

Swaying and shivering upon this day

Which brought me into life, and life

Into me.

And then a tremendous voice arises

From the Holy of Holies within me,

Saying, “Peace be with you, Life!

Peace be with you, Awakening!

Peace be with you, Revelation!

“Peace be with you, oh Day, who

Engulfs the darkness of the earth

With thy brilliant light!

“Peace be with you, oh Night,

Through whose darkness the lights

Of heaven sparkle!

“Peace be with you, Seasons of the

Year!

Peace be with you, Spring, who

Restores the earth to youth!

Peace be with you, Summer, who

Heralds the glory of the sun!

Peace be with you, Autumn, who

Gives with joy the fruits of

Labour and the harvest of toil!

Peace be with you, Winter, whose

Rage and tempest restore to

Nature her sleeping strength!

“Peace be with you, Years, who

Reveal what the years concealed!

Peace be with you, Ages, who

Build what the ages destroyed!

Peace be with you, Time, who leads

Us to the fullness of death!

Peace be with you, Heart, who

Throbs in peace while submerged

In tears!

Peace be with you, Lips, who

Utter joyous words of salaam while

Tasting the gall and the vinegar

Of life!

Peace bit with you, Soul, who

Directs the rudder of life and

Death while hidden from us

Behind the curtain of the sun!”

Contemplations in Sadness

Contemplations in Sadness

THE SUFFERINGS of the multitudes are as the agonies of gnawing pain, and in the mouth of society there are many decayed and ailing teeth. But society declines the careful and patient remedy, satisfying itself with polishing the exteriors and stuffing them with resplendent, glittering gold that blinds the eyes to the decay beyond. But the patient cannot blind himself to the continuing pain.

Many are the social dentists who endeavour to administer to the evils of the world, offering fillings of beauty, and many are the sufferers who yield to the will of the reformers and thereby increase their own suffering, draw deeper of their waning strength, and deceive themselves more surely into the abyss of death.

The decayed teeth of Syria are found in her schools, wherein today’s youth is taught to be tomorrow’s sorrow; and in her courts of justice, wherein the judges twist and play with the law as a tiger plays with its prey; and in the palaces, wherein falsehood and hypocrisy prevail; and in the huts of the poor, wherein fear, ignorance, and cowardice abide.

The political dentists of soft fingers pour honey into the ears of the people, shouting that they are filling the crevices of the nation’s weakness. Their song is made to sound higher than the sound of the grinding millstone, but in truth it is no nobler than the croaking of the frogs in the stagnant marsh.

Many are the thinkers and idealists in this world of emptiness … and how faint are their dreams!

*    *    *    *    *

Beauty belongs to youth, but the youth for whom this earth was made is naught but a dream whose sweetness is enslaved to a blindness that renders its awareness too late. Will ever the day come when the wise will band together the sweet dreams of youth and the joy of knowledge? Each is but naught when in solitary existence. Will ever the day come when Nature will be the teacher of man, and Humanity his book of devotions, and Life his daily school?

Youth’s purpose of joy—capable in its ecstasy and mild in its responsibility—cannot seek fulfillment until knowledge heralds the dawn of that day.

Many are the men who curse with venom the dead days of their youth; many are the women who execrate their wasted years with the fury of the lioness who has lost her cubs; and many are the youths and maidens who are using their hearts only to sheath the daggers of the bitter memories of the future, wounding themselves through ignorance with the sharp and poisoned arrows of seclusion from happiness.

Old age is the snow of the earth; it must, through light and truth, give warmth to the seeds of youth below, protecting them and fulfilling their purpose until Nisan comes and completes the growing pure life of youth with new awakening.

We are walking too slowly toward the awakening of our spiritual elevation, and only that plane, as endless as the firmament, is the understanding of the beauty of existence through our affection and love for that beauty.

*    *    *    *    *

Fate carried me by the painful current of modern, narrow civilization, taking me from between the arms of Nature in her cool green arbour, and placing me roughly under the feet of the throngs, where I fell as suffering prey to the tortures of the city.

No punishment more severe has befallen a child of God; no exile so bitter has become the lot of one who loves one blade of the earth’s grass with a fervency that causes every fibre of his being to tremble; no confinement imposed upon a criminal has approached in closeness the misery of my imprisonment, for the narrow walls of my cell are bruising my heart.

We may be wealthier than the villagers in gold, but they are infinitely richer in fullness of true existence. We sow in plenty, but reap naught; they reap the glorious bounty awarded by Nature to the diligent children of God. We calculate every barter with slyness; they take Nature’s products with honesty and peace. We sleep fitfully, seeing spectres of the morrow; they sleep as a child upon its mother’s bosom, knowing that Nature will never refuse her accustomed yield.

We are the slaves of gain; they are the masters of contentment. We drink bitterness and despair and fear and weariness from the cup of life; they drink the purest nectar of God’s blessings.

Oh, Giver of Graces, hidden from me behind these edifices of the throngs which are naught but idols and images … hear the anguished cries of my imprisoned soul! Hear the agonies of my bursting heart! Have mercy and return Your straying child to the mountainside, which is Thy edifice!

The Cortège

The Cortège

INTRODUCTION

THE MOTIVE of Gibran in writing this work probably finds its basis in his never-ending efforts to analyze human society, its laws, rules and customs. In society Gibran perceives a general falsehood of living that leads the people from the truth, elating some persons, humiliating others. He admonishes that no individual can experience the fullness of life and enjoy the bounty of Nature while his fellowman is pursuing greed in order to attain his goal.

To illustrate his precepts, Gibran chooses two metaphorical characters. The first is Age, represented by a bent old man who lives in the city and suffers through its man-made laws, traditions, inheritances and corruptions.