Sand And Foam & A Tear And A Smile (Illustrated Edition). Kahlil Gibran

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      Man and I are sweethearts

      He craves me and I long for him,

      But alas!

      Between us has appeared a rival who brings us misery.

      She is cruel and demanding,

      Possessing empty lure.

      Her name is Substance.

      She follows wherever we go

      And watches like a sentinel,

      Bringing restlessness to my lover.

      I ask for my beloved in the forest,

      Under the trees, by the lakes.

      I cannot find him,

      For Substance has spirited him to the clamorous city

      And placed him on the throne

      Of quaking, metal riches.

      I call for him with the voice of knowledge

      And the song of Wisdom.

      He does not hearken,

      For Substance has enticed him into the dungeon

      Of selfishness, where avarice dwells.

      I seek him in the field of Contentment,

      But I am alone,

      For my rival has imprisoned him ,

      I the cave of gluttony and greed,

      And locked him there

      With painful chains of gold.

      I call to him at dawn, when Nature smiles,

      But he does not hear,

      For excess has laden his drugged eyes with sick slumber.

      I beguile him at eventide, when Silence rules

      And the flowers sleep.

      But he responds not,

      For his fear over what the morrow will bring shadows his thoughts.

      He yearns to love me;

      He asks for me in this own acts.

      But he will find me not except in God's acts.

      He seeks me in the edifices of his glory

      Which he has built upon the bones of others;

      He whispers to me from among his heaps of gold and silver;

      But he will find me only by coming to the house of Simplicity

      Which God has built at the brink of the stream of affection.

      He desires to kiss me before his coffers,

      But his lips will never touch mine,

      Except in the richness of the pure breeze.

      He asks me to share with him his fabulous wealth,

      But I will not forsake God's fortune;

      I will not cast off my cloak of beauty.

      He seeks deceit for medium;

      I seek only the medium of his heart.

      He bruises his heart in his narrow cell;

      I would enrich his heart with all my love.

      My beloved has learned how to shriek and cry for my enemy, Substance;

      I would teach him how to shed tears of affection

      And mercy from the eyes of his soul

      For all things,

      And utter sighs of contentment through those tears.

      Man is my sweetheart;

      I want to belong to him.

      Song of the Rain

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      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 colourful field of the spirit;

      Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

      The Poet

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      He is a link between this and the coming world.

      He is a pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.

      He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty,

      Bearing fruit which the hungry heart craves;

      He is a nightingale,

      Soothing the depressed spirit with his beautiful melodies;

      He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,

      Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.

      Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,

      Opening their petals to admit the light.

      He is an angel,

      Sent by the goddess to preach the Deity's gospel;

      He is a brilliant lamp,

      Unconquered by darkness

      And inextinguishable by the wind.

      It is filled with oil by Ihstar of Love,

      And lighted by Apollon of Music.

      He