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A mason came forth and said Speak to us of

A mason came forth and said
"Speak to us of Houses."
And he answered and said
Build of your imaginings a bower in the
wilderness ere you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have home comings in your twilight
so has the wanderer in you
the ever distant and alone.
Your house is your larger body.
It grows in the sun and sleeps in
the stillness of the night
and it is not dreamless.
Does not your house dream? And dreaming
leave the city for grove or hilltop?
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand
and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
Would the valleys were your streets
and the green paths your alleys
that you might seek one another through vineyards
and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.
But these things are not yet to be.
In their fear your forefathers
gathered you too near together.
And that fear shall endure a little longer.
A little longer shall your city walls
separate your hearths from your fields.
And tell me people of Orphalese
what have you in these houses?
And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances the glimmering arches
that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty that leads the heart
from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me have you these in your houses?
Or have you only comfort and the lust for comfort
that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest
and becomes a host and then a master?
Ay and it becomes a tamer
and with hook and scourge
makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken
its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand
by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses
and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul
and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you children of space you restless in rest
you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound
but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors
nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling
nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendour
your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky
whose door is the morning mist
and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night...

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by:- admin posted in:- khalil gibran

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