Khalil Gibran

(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931 / Bsharri)

A Poet's Death is His Life IV


The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death's visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lops a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.

He was poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He as noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.

He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart's feeling. As he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil clouds.

And he said, "Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother's kiss, not touched a sister's cheeks, not caresses a sweetheart's fingertips. Come and take me, by beloved Death."

Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit. She impressed a deep and long and gently withdrawn kiss that left and eternal smile of fulfillment upon his lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was lest save parchments and papers which the poet had strewn with bitter futility.

Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseases slumber of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge, they erected a monument in the most beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honor of that poet, whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man's ignorance!

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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Read poems about / on: city, death, beautiful, smile, snow, kiss, dark, farewell, sister, angel, strength, nature, spring, life, mother, beauty, people, hope, wind, light

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  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points * Sunprincess * (3/29/2014 6:25:00 PM)

    ........this is truly a masterpiece....Khalil Gibran has quickly become one of my favourite poets....
    truly enjoyed this one... (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points Aisha Baranowska (10/23/2013 8:30:00 AM)

    Oh! This is most magnificent! Wonderful! Such a genius poetical prose about the death of a poet... How it speaks to me...! I see in this text the idea that a poet while alive, is treated harshly by the existence and looked down upon by his contemporaries - but when he dies, it is only then when he is celebrated and his work is finally appreciated - and so, he yearns to be dead so that his purpose of illuminating the humanity could be fulfilled - and after all, death is the only friend awaiting him faithfully and lovingly, welcoming... Such a wisdom, such a beauty! Khalil Gibran was a genius, indeed. He is a genius.: -) Is - not was, because ''poets' death is their life''... Oh, indeed, it is...: -) (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points Lois Dawes (4/1/2009 8:06:00 AM)

    For me this is a writing about the Lord and his host, but most of all about Jesus Christ..anyone out there who knows the painter Colin F. Christ from Kingston Jamaica would get a special message. Khalil Gibran, your writings are best sellers next o the Holy Bible one is pros/poetry/philosophy etc. chemistry/knowledge..the other poetry agian. Thank God the Almighty he made you for the world everlasting... (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points Buddhi Syangdan (6/24/2007 5:40:00 AM)

    It touched my heart, oh beyond soul, only poet can appeal death beautifully, it's so poetic it's so beautiful, feeling death is the death of poet.
    Gibran is really a wonderful creative genius and ability of portraying feeling in an artistic way. (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points Kiersten Powers (12/4/2005 2:28:00 PM)

    this poem is wonderful.Gibran was a genius and I love his works-he gives a completely new understanding of what it is to be a poet. (Report) Reply

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