The Garden of The Prophet
The Garden of The Prophet
Khalil Gibran
Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpetings, and farewells him with hootings, only to welcome another with trumpetings again
Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation
In your waking dream, when you are hushed and listening to your deeper self, your thoughts, like snow- flakes, fall and flutter and garment all the sounds of your spaces with white silence. “And what are waking dreams but clouds that bud and blossom on the sky-tree of your heart? And what are your thoughts but the petals which the winds of your heart scatter upon the hills and its fields? “And even as you wait for peace until the formless within you takes form, so shall the cloud gather and drift until the Blessed Fingers shape its grey desire to little crystal suns and moons and stars.
When darkness is upon you, say: ‘This darkness is dawn not yet born
To be a garden without walls, a vineyard without a guardian, a treasure-house for ever open to passers-by.

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