Your
Flaying is naught but shadow
That walks with the spirit to
The tomb of abashment, and shows
Her the cold, solid earth.

I have a little heart within me
And I like to bring him out of
His prison and carry him on the
Palm of my hand to examine him
In depth and extract his secret.
Aim not your arrows at him, lest
He take fright and vanish ere he
Pours the secret’s blood as a
Sacrifice at the altar of his
Own faith, given him by Deity
When He fashioned him of Love and Beauty.

The sun is rising and the nightingale
Is singing, and the myrtle is
Breathing its fragrance into space.
I want to free myself from the
Quilted slumber of wrong. Do not
Detain me, my blamer!

Cavil me not by mention of the
Lions of the forest or the
Snakes of the valley, for
My soul knows no fear of earth and
Accepts no warning of evil before
Evil comes.

Advise me not, my blamer, for
Calamities have opened my heart and
Tears have cleansed my eyes, and
Errors have taught me the language
Of the hearts.

Talk not of banishment, for Conscience
Is my judge and he will justify me
And protect me if I am innocent, and
Will deny me of life if I am a criminal.

Love’s procession is moving;
Beauty is waving her banner;
Youth is sounding the trumpet of joy;
Disturb not my contrition, my blamer.
Let me walk, for the path is rich
With roses and mint, and the air
Is scented with cleanliness.

Relate not the tales of wealth and
Greatness, for my soul is rich
With bounty and great with God’s glory.

Speak not of peoples and laws and
Kingdoms, for the whole earth is
My birthplace and all humans are
My brothers.

Go from me, for you are taking away
Life-giving repentance and bringing
Needless words.

A LOVER’S CALL

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 honour, 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

Your spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love

Floated about, singing the praise of the soul’s deeds?

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 Miriamite 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;

Obey 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; your 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, my beloved?

Oh, how great is Love!

And how little am I!

THE BEAUTY OF DEATH

Dedicated to M. E. H.

PART ONE — THE CALLING

LET ME sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love, and

Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;

Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and

Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;

Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,

And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.

Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired;

Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit;

Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart.

Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for

Its magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.

Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers

Raise their crowns to greet the dawn.

Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light

Between my bed and the infinite;

Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of

Her white wings.

Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips.

Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers;

Let the aged place their veined hands upon my head and bless me;

Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,

And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.

PART TWO — THE ASCENDING

I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the

Firmament of complete and unbound freedom;

I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are

Hiding the hills from my eyes.

The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the

Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;

The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white spectre

That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight

And red as the twilight.

The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams

Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;

And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity

In exact harmony with the spirit’s desires.

I am cloaked in full whiteness;

I am in comfort; I am in peace.

PART THREE — THE REMAINS

Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me

With leaves of jasmine and lilies;

Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest

Upon pillows of orange blossoms.

Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy;

Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress;

Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your

Finger the symbol of Love and Joy.

Disturb not the air’s tranquility with chanting and requiems,

But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life;

Mourn me not with apparel of black,

But dress in colour and rejoice with me;

Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close

Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore.

Place me upon clusters of leaves and

Carry me upon your friendly shoulders and

Walk slowly to the deserted forest.

Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber

Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls.

Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets

And poppies grow not in the other’s shadow;

Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not

Carry my bones to the open valley;

Let my grave be wide, so that the twilight shadows

Will come and sit by me.

Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my

Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother’s breast.

Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed

With seeds of jasmine, lilies, and myrtle; and when they

Grow above me and thrive on my body’s element they will

Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space;

And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace;

And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer.

Leave me then, friends—leave me and depart on mute feet,

As the silence walks in the deserted valley;

Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond

And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nisan’s breeze.

Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there

That which Death cannot remove from you and me.

Leave this place, for what you see here is far away in meaning

From the earthly world. Leave me.

THE PALACE AND THE HUT

PART ONE

AS NIGHT fell and the light glittered in the great house, the servants stood at the massive door awaiting the coming of the guests; and upon their velvet garments shone golden buttons.

The magnificent carriages drew into the palace park and the nobles entered, dressed in gorgeous raiment and decorated with jewels. The instruments filled the air with pleasant melodies while the dignitaries danced to the soothing music.

At midnight the finest and most palatable foods were served on a beautiful table embellished with all kinds of the rarest flowers. The feasters dined and drank abundantly, until the sequence of the wine began to play its part. At dawn the throng dispersed boisterously, after spending a long night of intoxication and gluttony which hurried their worn bodies into their deep beds with unnatural sleep.

PART TWO

At eventide, a man attired in the dress of heavy work stood before the door of his small house and knocked at the door. As it opened, he entered and greeted the occupants in a cheerful manner, and then sat between his children who were playing at the fireplace. In a short time, his wife had the meal prepared and they sat at a wooden table consuming their food. After eating they gathered around the oil lamp and talked of the day’s events. When early night had lapsed, all stood silently and surrendered themselves to the King of Slumber with a song of praise and a prayer of gratitude upon their lips.

A POET’S VOICE

PART ONE

THE POWER of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

Human kinds unite themselves only to destroy the temples of soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, “As love enlivens a man’s heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way to knowledge.” Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.

PART TWO

I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call “patriotic spirit” to murder, and invaded my neighbour’s country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my childhood; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing into forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, “The house that does not comfort the needy is worthy of naught but destruction.”

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth with all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan’s anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, others would say, “He is weak, affected by sentiment.”

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, “Ridicule is more bitter than killing.”

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.

PART THREE

Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.

You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.

You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.

You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.

You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but you shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky.

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.

I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance.