Monday, March 13, 2006

some poetry...not mine.

...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 then with a great voic 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 heights 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 gods 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 may laugh, but not all of your laughter, and cry, but not all of your tears.
love gives not but itself and takes nought 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 you course.
love has no desire but to fulfil itself.
but if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires.
to melt and be like the running brook that sings its melody to the night.
to know the pain of too much tenderness.
to be wounded by your 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 ecstacy.
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.


Blogger samar said...

Sat Sri Akaal!
Great words,great meaningful poetry.Me too a great khalil Gibran fan(especially "The Prophet").Maybe u can peek in Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyats... .they too are an exeptional piece mystical magic.

Naam Chit Aave.

10:49 PM  
Blogger simran singh said...

yes, i have read some omar khayyam, he is also in a class of his own. but the prophet by kahlil gibran is something very close to my heart...this is his only work in which the poet almost became a mystic. another example is "jonathan livingstone seagull" by richard bach, about a seagull who wants to fly fast only to realise that he cannot, because no matter how fast he is, he will still be limited by a number, infinity, god is being here.
gur fateh

9:48 AM  

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