Read Online Gibran Stories Omnibus by Kahlil Gibran - Free Book Online Page A

and sighs for forgotten lands.”
      “Nay, thou art not like me, O, Madman, for thou still takest thy
little-self for a comrade, and with thy monster-self thou canst not be
friend.”
      “I am like thee, O, Night, cruel and awful; for my bosom is lit by
burning ships at sea, and my lips are wet with blood of slain
warriors.”
      “Nay, thou art not like me, O, Madman; for the desire for a
sister-spirit is yet upon thee, and thou has not become a low unto
thyself.”
      “I am like thee, O, Night, joyous and glad; for he who dwells in my
shadow is now drunk with virgin wine, and she who follows me is sinning
mirthfully.”
      “Nay, thou art not like me, O, Madman, for thy soul is wrapped in
the veil of seven folds and thou holdest not they heart in Thine hand.”
      “I am like thee, O, Night, patient and passionate; for in my breast
a thousand dead lovers are buried in shrouds of withered kisses.”
      “Yea, Madman, art thou like me? Art thou like me? And canst thou
ride the tempest as a steed, and grasp the lightning as a sword?”
      “Like thee, O, Night, like thee, mighty and high, and my throne is
built upon heaps of fallen Gods; and before me too pass the days to
kiss the hem of my garment but never to gaze at my face.”
      “Art thou like me, child of my darkest heart? And dost thou think my
untamed thoughts and speak my vast language?”
      “Yea, we are twin brothers, O, Night; for thou revealest space and I
reveal my soul.”

FACES
         
      I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was
but a single countenance as if held in a mould.
      I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness
beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it
was.
      I have seen an old face much lined with nothing, and a smooth face
in which all things were graven.
      I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves,
and behold the reality beneath.

THE GREATER SEA
         
      My soul and I went to the great sea to bathe. And when we reached
the shore, we went about looking for a hidden and lonely place.
      But as we walked, we saw a man sitting on a grey rock taking pinches
of salt from a bag and throwing them into the sea.
      “This is the pessimist,” said my soul, “Let us leave this place. We
cannot bathe here.”
      We walked on until we reached an inlet. There we saw, standing on a
white rock, a man holding a bejewelled box, from which he took sugar
and threw it into the sea.
      “And this is the optimist,” said my soul, “And he too must not see
our naked bodies.
      Further on we walked. And on a beach we saw a man picking up dead
fish and tenderly putting them back into the water.
      “And we cannot bathe before him,” said my soul. “He is the humane
philanthropist.”
      And we passed on.
      Then we came where we saw a man tracing his shadow on the sand.
Great waves came and erased it. But he went on tracing it again and
again.
      “He is the mystic,” said my soul, “Let us leave him.”
      And we walked on, till in a quiet cover we saw a man scooping up the
foam and putting it into an alabaster bowl.
      “He is the idealist,” said my soul, “Surely he must not see our
nudity.”
      And on we walked. Suddenly we heard a voice crying, “This is the
sea. This is the deep sea. This is the vast and mighty sea.” And when
we reached the voice it was a man whose back was turned to the sea, and
at his ear he held a shell, listening to its murmur.
      And my soul said, “Let us pass on. He is the realist, who turns his
back on the whole he cannot grasp, and busies himself with a fragment.”
      So we passed on. And in a weedy place among the rocks was a