#1
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Khalil Gibran
Joy And Sorrow
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow." And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall. |
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#2
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A Tear And A Smile
I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart For the joys of the multitude. And I would not have the tears that sadness makes To flow from my every part turn into laughter. I would that my life remain a tear and a smile. A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding Of life's secrets and hidden things. A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods. A tear to unite me with those of broken heart; A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence. I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing. I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are Satisfied the most wretched of people. I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody. With evening's coming the flower folds her petals And sleeps, embracingher longing. At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet The sun's kiss. The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment. A tear and a smile. The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come Together and area cloud. And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home. The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting. A tear and a smile. And so does the spirit become separated from The greater spirit to move in the world of matter And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death And return whence it came. To the ocean of Love and Beauty----to God.
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Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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#3
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Song Of The Rain
Song Of The Rain
I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn Her fields and valleys. I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn To embellish the gardens. When I cry the hills laugh; When I humble myself the flowers rejoice; When I bow, all things are elated. The field and the cloud are lovers And between them I am a messenger of mercy. I quench the thirst of one; I cure the ailment of the other. The voice of thunder declares my arrival; The rainbow announces my departure. I am like earthly life, which begins at The feet of the mad elements and ends Under the upraised wings of death. I emerge from the heard of the sea Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and The trees in a million little ways. I touch gently at the windows with my Soft fingers, and my announcement is a Welcome song. All can hear, but only The sensitive can understand. The heat in the air gives birth to me, But in turn I kill it, As woman overcomes man with The strength she takes from him. I am the sigh of the sea; The laughter of the field; The tears of heaven. So with love - Sighs from the deep sea of affection; Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit; Tears from the endless heaven of memories.
__________________
Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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#4
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Song Of The Flower
Song Of The Flower
I am a kind word uttered and repeated By the voice of Nature; I am a star fallen from the Blue tent upon the green carpet. I am the daughter of the elements With whom Winter conceived; To whom Spring gave birth; I was Reared in the lap of Summer and I Slept in the bed of Autumn. At dawn I unite with the breeze To announce the coming of light; At eventide I join the birds In bidding the light farewell. The plains are decorated with My beautiful colors, and the air Is scented with my fragrance. As I embrace Slumber the eyes of Night watch over me, and as I Awaken I stare at the sun, which is The only eye of the day. I drink dew for wine, and hearken to The voices of the birds, and dance To the rhythmic swaying of the grass. I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow. But I look up high to see only the light, And never look down to see my shadow. This is wisdom which man must learn
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Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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#5
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The Beauty of Death
The Beauty of Death
BY Khalil Gibran 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 It's 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 ages 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 tranquillity 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 my 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 grace 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 with place, for what you see here is far away in meaning From the earthly world. Leave me.....
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Kami kis shae ki hai tere khazaane me mere Allah Jhukaa ke sar jo maangun teri rehmat mil hi jaaegi... |
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#6
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Love is a Magic Ray
Love is a magic ray emitted from the burning core of the soul and illuminating the surrounding earth. It enables us to perceive life as a beautiful dream between one awakening and another.
__________________
Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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#7
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Forever
I am forever walking upon these shores, Betwixt the sand and the foam, The high tide will erase my foot-prints, And the wind will blow away the foam. But the sea and the shore will remain Forever......
__________________
Kami kis shae ki hai tere khazaane me mere Allah Jhukaa ke sar jo maangun teri rehmat mil hi jaaegi... |
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#8
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Beauty
And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty." Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us." And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us." The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow." But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions." At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east." And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." All these things have you said of beauty. Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
__________________
Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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#9
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The Beauty Of Death
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 It's 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 ages 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.
__________________
Life is a tale told by an idiot... |
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unsolved_Mystery (Sunday, January 30, 2011) |
#10
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On Pain
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen. 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 tranquillity: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears. Khalil Gibran
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There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in. |
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Islaw Khan (Sunday, January 30, 2011) |
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