"gibran" poems
(On love by Kahlil Gibran ; A Translation)
Kung magkataon na tawagin ka ng pag-ibig, sumunod ka,
Kahit pa ang daan niya'y mahirap at matarik.
At kung yakapin ka ng kanyang mga pakpak ay magpaubaya ka,
Kahit pa ang mga punyal na nakatago sa kanyang mga balahibo ay kaya kang sugatan.
At kung mangusap siya sa iyo ay maniwala ka,
Kahit pa ang kanyang tinig ay kayang durugin ang iyong mga pangarap
Tulad ng pagsira ng hanging habagat sa mga halamanan.
Sapagkat kung paano ka parangalan ng pagibig ay ganoon ka din niya ipapako sa Krus.
‘Pagkat kahit pa siya'y para sa iyong paglago ay ganun din siya para sa iyong pagka-bulok.
Kahit pa pinayayabong ka nito sa iyong pinaka-mataas at hinahaplos ng liwanag nito ang iyong mga sanga,
Ganoon din niya huhugutin ang iyong mga ugat mula sa pagkakabaon nito sa lupa.
Tulad ng mga butil ng mais ay itinatali ka nito sa kanyang sarili.
Binabayo ka niya upang mahubdan
Ginigiling hanggang sa kuminis.
Minamasa hanggang sa lumambot
At ika'y kanyang isasalang sa kanyang banal na apoy, upang ika'y maging banal na alay na ihahain sa banal na pista ng Panginoon.
Ang lahat ng ito'y gagawin ng pagibig upang malaman mo ang mga lihim ng iyong puso, at sa kaalamang iyon ay maging bahagi ng puso ng buhay.
Ngunit kung sa iyong pagkatakot ay hanapin mo lamang ang kapayapaan at kasiyahan ng pagibig,
Ay mabuti pang ika'y magbihis at lumiban sa kanyang giikan,
Sa isang mundong walang kulay kung saan ikaw ay tatawa, ngunit hindi
lahat ng iyong kasiyahan, at iiyak, ngunit hindi lahat ng iyong luha.
Walang ibinibigay ang pagibig kundi ang kanyang sarili at walang tinatanggap kundi ang galing din sa kanya.
Ang pagibig ay hindi nang-aangkin at nagpapa-angkin ;
Sapagkat ang pagibig ay sasapat lamang sa pagibig.
Kapag ika'y umibig hindi mo dapat sabihing, “Ang Diyos ay nasa aking puso,” kung hindi, “Ako ay nasa puso ng Diyos.”
At 'wag **** isipin na kaya **** diktahan ang pagibig, 'pagkat ang pagibig, kung matantong ika'y karapat-dapat, ay ididikta sa iyo ang iyong landas.
Walang kagustuhan ang pagibig kung hindi tuparin ang kanyang sarili.
Ngunit kung ikaw ay umibig at mangailangan, maging ito ang iyong kailanganin:
Ang matunaw at umagos na parang batis na umaawit sa gabi.
Ang malaman ang sakit ng lubos na pagaaruga.
Ang masugatan sa iyong sariling kaalaman ng pagibig;
At masaktan ng kusang-loob at may ligaya.
Ang gumising sa bukang-liwayway ng may pusong kayang lumipad at magbigay pasasalamat sa isang bagong araw ng pagibig;
Ang magpahinga sa tanghali at magnilay sa sarap ng pagibig;
Ang umuwi sa hapon ng puno ng pasasalamat;
At matulog nang may panalangin para sa minamahal sa iyong puso at awit ng papuri sa iyong mga labi.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
"Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life
and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you nowhere
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time, yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn't live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you,
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability,
but you are able for you are not half a being.
You are a whole that exists to live a life,
not half a life."
--Khalil Gibran
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
You texted me a hello and a Happy New Year
You asked how I was doing and I responded “Doing Well”
I returned your question of “How are you doing”
I followed after with “Did you have a good New Year’s Eve”
You kept your responses simple and vague
You left my second question hanging by only answering with
‘Working a lot’ and stating how happy you were to hear I was doing well
Your short, simple responses gave nothing away
About what has occurred in your life
Since the last time we had a willing and connected conversation
The way you responded left me to wonder
The reason why you contacted me
Your distant responses made it very clear
That this would be the last time you and I would ever talk
This is the end of the two of us
The end of you and I
The end of any possibility of you and I being one
As I quietly sit in the Marketing Room
Thinking about the obvious next step
I waiver on my decision to delete your number off my Blackberry forever
I questioned whether I would regret this decision
Then an old quote by Khalil Gibran came to me:
“If you love somebody let them go, for if they return, they were always yours.
And if they don’t, they never were.”
Believing the truth behind his words,
I proceeded to clearing our messages
And deleting your number off my phone
Until next time..
If there is one..
Only time will tell..
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC
The short-order cook and the dishwasher
argue the relative merits
of Rilke’s Elegies
against Eliot’s Four Quartets,
but the delivery man who brings eggs
suggests they have forgotten Les fleurs
du mal and Baudelaire. The waitress
carrying three plates and a coffee ***
can’t decide whom she loves more—
Rimbaud or Verlaine,
William Blake or William Wordsworth.
She refills the rabbi’s cup
(he’s reading Rumi),
asks what he thinks of Arthur Whaley.
In the booth behind them, a fat woman
feeds a small white poodle in her lap,
with whom she shares her spoon.
"It’s Rexroth’s translations of the Japanese,"
she says, "that one can’t live without:
May those who are born after me
Never travel such roads of love."
The revolving door proffers
a stranger in a long black coat, lost in the madhouse poems of John Clare.
As he waits to be seated,
the woman who owns the place
hands him a menu
in which he finds several handwritten poems
By Hafiz, Gibran, and Rabindranath Tagore.
The lunch hour’s crowded—
the owner wonders
if the stranger might share
my table. As he sits,
I put a finger to my lips,
and with my eyes ask him
to listen with me
to the young boy and the young girl
two tables away
taking turns reading aloud
the love poems of Pablo Neruda.
4.9k
"...Tell me, for Love's sake, what is that flame which burns in my heart and devours my strength and dissolves my will? What are those hidden soft and rough hands that grasp any soul; what is that wine mixed of bitter joy and sweet pain that suffuses my heart? What are those wings that hover over my pillow in the silence of Night, and keep me awake,watching no one knows what? What is the invisible thing I stare at, the incomprehensible thing that I ponder, the feeling that cannot be sensed? In my sights is a grief more beautiful than the echo of laughter and more rapturous than joy. Why do I surrender myself to an unknown power that slays me and revives me until Dawn rises and fills my chamber with its light? Phantoms of wakefulness tremble between my seared eyelids, and shadows of dreams hover over my stony bed. What is that which we call Love? Tell me, what is that secret hidden within the ages yet which permeates all consciousness? What is this consciousness that is at once origin and result of everything? What is this vigil that fashions from Life and Death a dream, stranger than Life and deeper than Death? Tell me, friends, is there one among you who would not awake from the slumber of Life if love touched his soul with its fingertip?"
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
Waiting for him,
Was like a,
Mindless abyss.
I thought,
This time I should give it a shot.
Add plus venture,
Into a realm full with pleasures of flesh.
Rather waiting to lie in sepulcher.
Thence came the wooers,
On horses, chariots, planes and cars,
Courted me to the foreign lands of brand new emotions.
Greasy, exotic, curious and even obscure ,
To satiate my hunger,
They poured,
And I sinfully devoured.
Ooooh!
A whip here.
Ouuch!
A tickle there.
Aahhhhh!!
The sheer unfolding of their classy work.
Every night lusciously they came,
Wrapped me in an awe of satire, skepticism and imagination,
Not to say of the bruises they gave,
Tears I shed of Anger,Pain ,Love and Hate.
Still I followed them blindly and agape,
Because a new world in me was taking shape.
Of Shakespeare, Freud, Tolstoy, Eliot, Byron, Wordsworth and my then fav,
the great Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
A medley of fantasy, fact-fiction, comedy, realism and romance.
Oh!
What not I chanced upon.
All emphasizing emotion, imagination, scientific and natural thought.
There was no stopping of these gnawing hunger pangs,
None lasted more than a one night stand.
The foolish me, unaware, cascaded in the fatal encounters,
Not knowing the pangs are of soul to reach the supreme ******
Thence came a Seer
The Prophet,
The Wanderer,
The Forerunner,
It was as if he can rip me with his thoughts,
And see my soul through that tear…..
I distinctly remember that divine night,
The moment I held him in my desirous hands,
I was no more in dual fight.
Things started falling into place,
Was no more in that abysmal space.
Still I would say,
It’s a current phase.
This soon would also evade.
New Lover ,
For every new night…
To cut a long story short,
Just so,
Because of your low attention span,
The lover, the poet , the wooer
Was the great
Khalil Gibran.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time
Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again
On but an arm, the koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves
On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?
Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky - Gibran
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and there fell a poem
into my head
like a song…
“One day you will ask me
which is more important?
My life or yours?
I will say mine
and you will walk away
not knowing
that you are my life.”
I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and my dreams were filled
in my heart was a song
a longing so sweet
a desire too strong
till the museum guard came
and moved me along
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 6:21 AM UTC
Lisa Nelle
had two names
like a pornstar.
She'd put her makeup on and stick all this blackness on
under her eyes
like she was holding night
in bags.
We watched Hey Arnold! DVDs at five in the morning,
and smoked the whole place up.
Sometimes her and Alexis would go in the back room.
Alexis never liked me.
Lisa Nelle had this way of looking at you
where she'd take her eyes
and she'd work her way
down to your stomach.
She could find a star in my intestines,
a dwarf light could warble in my stomach
and she'd see it through my belly button.
She'd pull it out
wings and all
and tell me
that Khalil knew the answers.
Out of this two-ton purse she carried around,
she'd whip out a compilation of Khalil Gibran.
One time she told me how her father
used to pull her hair
and thighs.
She didn't say anything about it again.
When we tripped shrooms,
she took my hands and put them on her neck
and asked me to feel for the nebulas
underneath her skin.
When I read
some of the stuff you send me,
the emails,
texts
or poems,
I can't help but wonder how many words
I now know as a result of you
that I wouldn't know
if I hadn't been looking
around for bud
and someone I knew
that
knew you.
I'm sorry Lisa Nelle,
that things didn't work out with you and Alexis
when they did
with you
and
Sabrosa.
Sometimes I hate myself too.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
If you ever die
If you ever die from me
Looking at my longing eyes
In guise of a mystic veil
Dead drop at the twilight hours
White longish fangs
Of the piercing moments
Will unfurl its wings of fire
Setting sail in an invisible gondola
At long last to carry you home
To the isle of your birth
Even if you ever die at all from me
I will stand upon the deck of noontide
All alone in my aloneness, all alone
Staring vaguely at the rushing gondola
Surfing invisibly away from me
Tearing apart the veil of grazing mist
At the twilight hours casting spell on me
To diminish myself into you
And with you I too diminish away
From you, all away from you
In a shroud of love and longing
As if you never died away from me
In my longing eyes for you, only for you
And like The Prophet beloved
Prophesying on the blue mountain
From his never ending well
Of wisdom depthless and deathless
I will remember you as silently
As the sound of scorching darkness
And I will remember your heart
As saying for ever to me, only to me:
“A little while,
A moment of rest upon the wind,
And another woman will bear me." *
* (The italic quotation is from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet)
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility." - Khalil Gibran
That quote inspired what I wrote because pain is a constant in this cruel world
And in all reality our pain is inspired by the struggles we've gone through, so it may not be easy but to medicate and starting the process of healing is on you. Others may have caused what you're going through but it's up to you to make it better, because even if it's raining now there's always a chance for better weather
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
Then said Almitra, “Speak to us of Love.”
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, it directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
-----Kahlil Gibran
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
:)
1. tell all of your problems to a tree; it’s not going to answer back but it will love you
2. stuff your face in a pile of snow
3. get up and dance when there is no music playing
4. stand infront of the mirror with one hand cooly resting on your hip and the other hand pointing at yourself, and then wink at yourself like you’re the most attractive babe out there
5. stop everything you’re doing and speak in gibberish until you laugh
6. paint with your toes to Beethoven
7. roll around on the floor for a few minutes; move furniture around so that you have plenty of space to do so
8. bake someone you are fond of cupcakes and surprise them out of the blue
9. pick a ton of wonderful flowers and hand them out to strangers that pass by
10. when you’re stubborn, stuck, in pride, in pain, in mind, tell whoever your head thinks it concerns these 4 lines in a row and nothing else;
"I love you
I’m sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you”
(Hoʻoponopono)
11. buy yourself a yummy ice cream cone
12. go swimming alone and let your body flow and be one with the water
13. write a real old fashioned letter to your mother or father telling them about yourself and that you love them
14. stand outside in the pouring rain until your clothes soak; and make sure you’re barefoot so that gushy mud can get between your toes
15. go to a park with a swing-set and just swing by yourself
16. make yourself a big beautiful breakfast in the morning
17. give your friends meaningful hugs that last a very long time
18. read a passage or two in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran
19. shut off your Netflix and go on a bike ride in the middle of the night
20. hug yourself and kiss your hands and your arms and stroke your hair and tell yourself aloud “I love you; I love me” over and over again
21. breathe deep into your belly like a Buddha instead of shallow into your chest
22. go to another city/province/country/continent on your own for at least a week
23. don’t shy away from holding someone’s hand or kissing them if you think it feels right
24. hold a baby in your arms
25. drink a glass of water
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Kahlil Gibran
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
The granular spittle that remains in my throat
A long day between winter and spring
My state known only by friends few of them
My Love felt by every creature
The ******** that sprinkles with their hatred
And those that converts their names and faith
This suffocating visible plurality of creatures and bizarre manifestations
My spiritual nervation has strengthened
Soul cells are dancing the muttered nation’s dance called Love
Those who make *** in the air as flies’ foals hatred babies
Can you **** babies is our question
We the invisible plurality of divine creatures and manifestations
We the perpetual Theophany coruscate in pure hearts
As Sun in the dews of mornings full of vetyver, ambergris, limonene, fragrance and a slight skunk of civet, moschus and the sweat men by labor exhausted
We speak we sing we paint
With the act without exhaling a syllable from our holly mouths
We sprinkle with the aureate dust
Straight we look at Saturn ring color eyes and the color of peacock tale feather
We built a cube temple and play chess in cube
We love the terrain where the guests of Moses and Lot before him had passed through
We sing with Seraph of high realms we sing in sync
Here we bring joy in hearts of those who encroached in procession through emerald macadam
Where you seldom pass
We know by heart the Al Jaffr and ten Sefirots and we read the Liber Razielis
We accompanied Adam Kadmon in his solitude prior to separation and embodiment in terrain that will be bloodied by human through centuries
We have said to John to go in the river Jordan baptize the Christ and lead him on
For those who knows a little
We said to Waraka to prepare Muhammad to become the leader of those who seek the truth
We said to Bahaullah to explain men to take after women and the mother Earth
Otherwise in upcoming millennium the solely food of them shall be kernels and water
We said to Gibran commence the Theurgy for upcoming millennium being as solely artistic repose for creative men
We said to Fahredin write as much as possible and hush as a canyon stone
Until he finds his echo point
We…
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
I am a tree, grown in the shade, and today I stretched my branches to tremble for a while in the daylight. I came here to tell you good-bye, my beloved, and it is my hope that our farewell will be as great and awful like our love. Let our farewell be like fire that bends the gold and makes it more resplendent.
Selma did not allow me to speak or protest, but she looked at me, her eyes glittering, her face retaining its dignity, seeming like an angel worthy of silence and respect. Then she flung herself upon me, something which she had never done before, and put her smooth arms around me and printed a long, deep, fiery kiss on my lips
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow. Solitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual exaltation.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
It's a space within a space, where
all are transparent...i am myself.
On two layers of shelves on a wall,
a dictionary and a thesaurus,
share space with what seems like
an heirloom of books, old and new:
Gibran, Dylan Thomas, Dickinson,
Bronte, P. B. Shelley, Jane Eyre,
Hosseini, few Ludlum oldies, etc...
Here, a blending of the tangible and
the intangible is present, like habits
and thoughts that don't, and can't die,
stuffs that've endured the years: old
unposted poems with scribbled notes,
faded photos in sepia...faded jeans;
a bed that awaits fatigued body and
mind on toxic days, and becomes a
desk to write on...when needed.
It's not as though nothing's awry,
imperfections are seen by the eyes,
some details may not be precise
in this accepted clutter of daily goings-
on...of feelings...of some undoings
that interrupt and are mingling
with enigmas flashing up the ceiling;
lost shoe-laces wander, and go hiding
among indispensable habits and things,
kept...retained, like a hanging purse,
grabbed, when a sudden trip occurs.
It's hot and cold in this ***** place,
it's cozy, my neatly-cluttered space.
sally b
Rosalia Rosrio A. Bayan
March 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 7:27 AM UTC
“When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
To love life through labor is to be intimate with life’s inmost secret.
All work is empty save when there is love, for work is love made visible.”
~~Kahlil Gibran~~~!!!
All, <3<3 :):)!!!
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
"Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal
is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn’t live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists
to live a life not half a life.”
-Khalil Gibran
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
#
*When love beckons to you, follow him,
though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
though the sword, hidden among his pinions
may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him
though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses
your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots
and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge,
become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear, you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
into the seasonless world--
Where you shall laugh.. but not all of your laughter,
And weep.. but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught, but from itself.
Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart,"
but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires--
To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.*
~Kahlil Gibran#
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
#
*Would that I could gather your houses into my hand,
and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
Would the valleys were your streets,
and the green paths your alleys,
that you might seek one another through vineyards,
and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.
But these things are not yet to be.
In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near together.
And that fear shall endure a little longer.
A little longer shall your city walls separate your hearths
from your fields.
And tell me, people of OrphaIese, what have you in these houses?
And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances..
the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things
fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses?
Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort,
that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest,
..and then becomes a host and then a master?
Ay, and it becomes a tamer,
and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep
only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses,
and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul,
and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you, children of space, you restless in rest,
you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound,
but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors,
nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling,
nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendor,
your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you
abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist,
and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.*
~ Khalil Gibran
#
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC
(And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Kahlil Gibran)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am the unlived dream
waiting to gather wings
and fly across your soils.
I am also the unborn thirst
seeking to seep deep
into your roots.
I am your footsteps
treading softly
in my muse.
I am that thick smoke spiraling
towards heaven’s gates.
When your pyre was quietly lit
I am also the grey ash
languishing on this wasted Earth.
I am
A COMPLETE YOU
and…..
AN EMPTY ME…
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
*
You are the Poet,
Among the first five;
I do understand,
You are the
Poet of the Poet;
The best poet!
Neither “Homer”
Nor “Gibran”;
Neither “Neruda”;
Nor “Tagore”;
Like all other
Poet of the Poets;
You too scribbles nonsense,
Sometimes like the
other famous poets;
You yourself is the originator;
As well as the reader.
then you become
victorious; defeated…….
_______________________________________________________________________
You are the King
Among the first five
I do understand
You are the
King of the Kings;
The best King !
Neither “Charles II”
Nor “Henry V”;
Neither “Edward”;
Nor “Asoka”;
Like all other
King of Kings,
You yourself is the Creator;
as well as the destroyer;
You too declares world war
sometimes like the
other famous Kings!
Without warnings
You yourself is the creator;
As well as the destructor;
then you become
victorious;the defeated..
____________________________________________________________________________________
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC