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    The Broken Wings
    The Broken Wings
    The Broken Wings
    Ebook86 pages1 hour

    The Broken Wings

    By Kahlil Gibran

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Kahlil Gibran was a Lebanese-American writer and poet.  Even though Gibran was considered a literary and political rebel, his works are still celebrated throughout the world.  Gibran’s most famous work is The Prophet.  This edition of The Broken Wings includes a table of contents.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCharles River Editors
    Release dateMar 22, 2018
    ISBN9781508016892
    The Broken Wings
    Author

    Kahlil Gibran

    Poet, philosopher, and artist, Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931) was born in Lebanon. The millions of Arabic-speaking peoples familiar with his writings in that language consider him the genius of his age and he was a man whose fame and influence spread far beyond the country of his birth. His poetry has been translated into more than twenty languages and his drawings and paintings have been exhibited in the great capitals of the world and compared by Auguste Rodin to the work of William Blake.

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      Book preview

      The Broken Wings - Kahlil Gibran

      THE BROKEN WINGS

      Kahlil Gibran

      KYPROS PRESS

      Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review or contacting the author.

      This book is a work of nonfiction and is intended to be factually accurate.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2015 by Kahlil Gibran

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      The Broken Wings

      FOREWORD

      CHAPTER ONE: SILENT SORROW

      CHAPTER TWO: THE HAND OF DESTINY

      CHAPTER THREE: ENTRANCE TO THE SHRINE

      CHAPTER FOUR: THE WHITE TORCH

      CHAPTER FIVE: THE TEMPEST

      CHAPTER SIX: THE LAKE OF FIRE

      CHAPTER SEVEN: BEFORE THE THRONE OF DEATH

      CHAPTER EIGHT: BETWEEN CHRIST AND ISHTAR

      CHAPTER NINE: THE SACRIFICE

      CHAPTER TEN: THE RESCUER

      The Broken Wings

      By

      Kahlil Gibran

      THE BROKEN WINGS

      ~

      FOREWORD

      ~

      I WAS EIGHTEEN YEARS of age when love opened my eyes with its magic rays and touched my spirit for the first time with its fiery fingers, and Selma Karamy was the first woman who awakened my spirit with her beauty and led me into the garden of high affection, where days pass like dreams and nights like weddings.

      Selma Karamy was the one who taught me to worship beauty by the example of her own beauty and revealed to me the secret of love by her affection; se was the one who first sang to me the poetry of real life.

      Every young man remembers his first love and tries to recapture that strange hour, the memory of which changes his deepest feeling and makes him so happy in spite of all the bitterness of its mystery.

      In every young man’s life there is a Selma who appears to him suddenly while in the spring of life and transforms his solitude into happy moments and fills the silence of his nights with music.

      I was deeply engrossed in thought and contemplation and seeking to understand the meaning of nature and the revelation of books and scriptures when I heard LOVE whispered into my ears through Selma’s lips. My life was a coma, empty like that of Adam’s in Paradise, when I saw Selma standing before me like a column of light. She was the Eve of my heart who filled it with secrets and wonders and made me understand the meaning of life.

      The first Eve led Adam out of Paradise by her own will, while Selma made me enter willingly into the paradise of pure love and virtue by her sweetness and love; but what happened to the first man also happened to me, and the fiery word which chased Adam out of Paradise was like the one which frightened me by its glittering edge and forced me away from paradise of my love without having disobeyed any order or tasted the fruit of the forbidden tree.

      Today, after many years have passed, I have nothing left out of that beautiful dream except painful memories flapping like invisible wings around me, filling the depths of my heart with sorrow, and bringing tears to my eyes; and my beloved, beautiful Selma, is dead and nothing is left to commemorate her except my broken heart and tomb surrounded by cypress trees. That tomb and this heart are all that is left to bear witness of Selma.

      The silence that guards the tomb does not reveal God’s secret in the obscurity of the coffin, and the rustling of the branches whose roots suck the body’s elements do not tell the mysteries of the grave, by the agonized sighs of my heart announce to the living the drama which love, beauty, and death have performed.

      Oh, friends of my youth who are scattered in the city of Beirut, when you pass by the cemetery near the pine forest, enter it silently and walk slowly so the tramping of your feet will not disturb the slumber of the dead, and stop humbly by Selma’s tomb and greet the earth that encloses her corpse and mention my name with deep sigh and say to yourself, here, all the hopes of Gibran, who is living as prisoner of love beyond the seas, were buried. On this spot he lost his happiness, drained his tears, and forgot his smile.

      By that tomb grows Gibran’s sorrow together with the cypress trees, and above the tomb his spirit flickers every night commemorating Selma, joining the branches of the trees in sorrowful wailing, mourning and lamenting the going of Selma, who, yesterday was a beautiful tune on the lips of life and today is a silent secret in the bosom of the earth.

      Oh, comrades of my youth! I appeal to you in the names of those virgins whom your hearts have loved, to lay a wreath of flowers on the forsaken tomb of my beloved, for the flowers you lay on Selma’s tomb are like falling drops of dew for the eyes of dawn on the leaves of withering rose.

      CHAPTER ONE: SILENT SORROW

      ~

      MY NEIGHBOURS, YOU REMEMBER the dawn of youth with pleasure and regret its passing; but I remember it like a prisoner who recalls the bars and shackles of his jail. You speak of those years between infancy and youth as a golden era free from confinement and cares, but I call those years an era of silent sorrow which dropped as a seed into my heart and grew with it and could find no outlet to the world of Knowledge and wisdom until love came and opened the heart’s doors and lighted its corners. Love provided me with a tongue and tears. You people remember the gardens and orchids and the meeting places and street corners that witnessed your games and heard your innocent whispering; and I remember, too, the beautiful spot in North Lebanon. Every time I close my eyes I see those valleys full of magic

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