Free site book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. Free PDF, epub, site ebook. The Prophet is a book of 26 prose poetry essays written in English by the Lebanese artist, philosopher and writer Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet by Khalil Gibran entered the world of Public Domain on January 1, The book is here available as a free pdf ebook. It was written in English by Reading Words Book Club is discussing Cormac McCarthy's novel, The Road.
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erstand my language. And after seven moons, one day a soothsayer looked at me, and he said to my mother, "Your son will be a statesman and a great leader of. Kahlil Gibran ebooks: read or download for free. K:: Kahlil Gibran: download and read ebooks. The forerunner, his parables and poems · The Madman. The Madman by Kahlol Gibran free PDF ebook The Madman is probably Kahlil Gibran's second most well-known work after The Prophet.
This is the most beloved, and masterfully written poetic essay by Artist, Philosopher, and Writer, Lebanese-American Author Kahlil Gibran , he paints a colorful picture with words describing the Human Condition.
This book has 26 prose poetry fables written in English, and published in by Alfred A. Highly in demand it is always being printed, and has been translated into 40 languages.
The Prophet's main character is named Almustafa, the setting is he has been away from home 12 years and he is about to broad a ship to take him home, when he is stopped by a group of people, and he discusses topics that have to do with the human condition.
Dealing with the rigors of love, marriage, children, giving, eating, drinking, work, joy, sorrow, houses, clothes, downloading, selling, crime, punishment, laws, freedom, reason, passion, pain, friendship, talking, time, good, evil, prayer, self knowledge, pleasure, beauty, religion, and death.
I really like this book because reading it has enlightened me, even though it can be difficult to fully comprehend, this book is very thought provoking. I recommend this book to anyone interested in philosophy, poetry and classic literature.
Paperback Verified download. Save your eyes and do not download this particular copy!! Seriously, the book is only 38 pages That makes noooo sense. This copy Is more like a 'phamplet' and not so much a bound book. I do not even require reading glasss yet I seriously will never read this copy. Seriously, it's maybe an 8 point font. If you want my copy, let me know. Sooooo frustrating and ridiculous. This was recommended to me by a friendly Timeless poetic stories That bring out the best.
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This was recommended to me by a friendly waitress on evening. Since then we've been recommending books to each other every time I see her. This recommendation was a unexpected treat. Take the time to read and enjoy its warmth! You'll be recommending this to strangers just as she did to me, making friends in the process.
I guess that's the kind of magic this book holds. Happy Reading!!! My lifetime favorite. I was introduced to this book in the '70s and I have never turned it down since then.
I've kept on going back again and again to its beautiful and poetic messages. This book is so timeless and so inspiring that I couldn't keep quoting and sharing Kahlil's words with my kids, relatives, coworkers and friends. This is a book that I intend to introduce even to my grandchildren someday. I downloadd this book as a replacement to the one I had given away. This is one of my all-time favorite books and truly a classic.
No matter what religion or belief you have, this book will apply and you will relate to it.
This is one to read over and over during the course of your lifetime and to share with loved ones, and also with people that you just think may need to read it. See all 1, reviews.
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The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran
Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. All poems and short stories Global Classics. The Prophet. The Essential Rumi - reissue: New Expanded Edition. Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Stella Adler: The Art of Acting. Customers who viewed this item also viewed. With Original Illustrations by the Author. There's a problem loading this menu right now. Learn more about site Prime. Get fast, free shipping with site Prime. I shall sing your name as the valley sings the echo of the bells of the village churches; I shall listen to the language of your soul as the shore listens to the story of the waves.
I shall remember you as a stranger remembers his beloved country, and as a hungry man remembers a banquet, and as a dethroned king remembers the days of his glory, and as a prisoner remembers the hours of ease and freedom. I shall remember you as a sower remembers the bundles of wheat on his threshing flour, and as a shepherd remembers the green prairies the sweet brooks. Will a lover be satisfied embracing a ghost, or will a thirsty man quench his thirst from the spring or a dream?
You will be in the home of a person whom chance has made most fortunate through your beauty and virtue, while I shall be living a life of suffering and fear. You will enter the gate of life, while I shall enter the gate of death.
You will be received hospitably, while I shall exist in solitude, but I shall erect a statue of love and worship it in the valley of death. Love will be my sole comforter, and I shall drink love like wine and wear it like garment. At dawn, Love will wake me from slumber and take me to the distant field, and at noon will lead me to the shadows of trees, where I will find shelter with the birds from the heat of the sun.
At night, Love will embrace me, and I shall sleep, dreaming of the heavenly world where the spirits of lovers and poets abide. In the Spring I shall walk side by side with love among violets and jasmines and drink the remaining drops of winter in the lily cups. In Summer we shall make the bundles of hay our pillows and the grass our bed, and the blue sky will cover us as we gaze at the stars and the moon. In Autumn, Love and I will go to the vineyard and sit by the wine press and watch the grapevines being denuded of their golden ornaments, and the migrating flocks of birds will wing over us.
In Winter, we shall sit by the fireside reciting stories of long ago and chronicles of far countries. During my youth, Love will be my teacher; in middle age, my help; and in old age, my delight.
Love, my beloved Selma, will stay with me to the end of my life, and after death the hand of God will unite us again. Selma was weeping as if her eyes were lips answering me with tears. Those whom Love has not chosen as followers do not hear when Love calls. This story is not for them. Even if they should comprehend these pages, they would not be able to grasp the shadowy meanings which are not clothed in words and do not reside on paper, but what human being is he who has never sipped the wine from the cup of love, and what spirit is it that has never stood reverently before that lighted altar in the temple whose pavement is the hearts of men and women and whose ceiling is the secret canopy of dreams?
What flower is that on whose leaves the dawn has never poured a drop of dew; what streamlet is that which lost its course without going to the sea? Selma raised her face toward the sky and gazed at the heavenly stars which studded the firmament. She stretched out her hands; her eyes widened, and her lips trembled.
On her pale face, I could see the signs of sorrow, oppression, hopelessness, and pain. What sin has she committed to deserve such a punishment?
For what crime has she been awarded everlasting castigation? Oh, Lord, Thou art strong, and I am weak. Why hast Thou made me suffer pain? Thou art great and almighty, while I am nothing but a tiny creature crawling before Thy throne. Why hast Thou crushed me with Thy foot? Thou art a raging tempest, and I am like dust; why, my Lord, hast Thou flung me upon the cold earth? Thou art powerful, and I am helpless; why art Thou fighting me?
Thou art considerate, and I am prudent; why art Thou destroying me? Thou hast created woman with love, and why, with love, dost Thou ruin her? With Thy right hand dost Thou lift her, and with Thy left hand dost Thou strike her into the abyss, and she knows not why. In her mouth Thou blowest the breath of Life, and in her heart Thou sowest the seeds of death.
Thou dost show her the path of happiness, but Thou leadest her in the road of misery; in her mouth Thou dost place a song of happiness, but then Thou dost close her lips with sorrow and dost fetter her tongue with agony. With Thy mysterious fingers dost Thou dress her wounds, and with Thine hands Thou drawest the dread of pain round her pleasures.
In her bed Thou hidest pleasure and peace, but beside it Thou dost erect obstacles and fear. Thou dost excite her affection through Thy will, and from her affection does shame emanate. By Thy will Thou showest her the beauty of creation, but her love for beauty becomes a terrible famine. Thou dost make her drink life in the cup of death, and death in the cup of life.
Thou purifiest her with tears, and in tears her life streams away. Oh, Lord, Thou hast opened my eyes with love, and with love Thou hast blinded me. Thou hast kissed me with Thy lips and struck me with Thy strong hand. Thou has planted in my heart a white rose, but around the rose a barrier of thorns.
Thou hast tied my present with the spirit of a young man whom I love, but my life with the body of an unknown man. So help me, my Lord, to be strong in this deadly struggle and assist me to be truthful and virtuous until death.
Thy will be done. Oh , Lord God. Selma looked down, pale and frail; her arms dropped, and her head bowed and it seemed to me as if a tempest had broken a branch from a tree and cast it down to dry and perish. I took her cold hand and kissed it, but when I attempted to console her it was I who needed consolation more than she did. I kept silent, thinking of our plight and listening to my heartbeats.
Neither of us said more. Extreme torture is mute, and so we sat silent, petrified, like columns of marble buried under the sand of an earthquake. Neither wished to listen to the other because our heart-threads had become weak and even breathing would have broken them. It was midnight, and we could see the crescent moon rising from behind Mount Sunnin, and it looked in the midst of the stars, like the face of a corpse, in a coffin surrounded by the dim lights of candles.
And Lebanon looked like an old man whose back was bent with age and whose eyes were a haven for insomnia, watching the dark and waiting for dawn, like asking sitting on the ashes of his throne in the debris of his palace.
The mountains, trees, and rivers change their appearance with the vicissitudes of times and seasons, as a man changes with his experiences and emotions. The lofty poplar that resembles a bride in the daytime, will look like a column of smoke in the evening; the huge rock that stands impregnable at noon, will appear to be a miserable pauper at night, with earth for his bed and the sky for his cover; and the rivulet that we see glittering in the morning and hear singing the hymn of Eternity, will, in the evening, turn to a stream of tears wailing like a mother bereft of her child, and Lebanon, that had looked dignified a week before, when the moon was full and our spirits were happy, looked sorrowful and lonesome that night.
We stood up and bade each other farewell, but love and despair stood between us like two ghosts, one stretching his wings with his fingers over our throats, one weeping and the other laughing hideously.
The beauty of trees, the moonlight, the deep silence, everything about me looked ugly and horrible. The true light that had showed me the beauty and wonder of the universe was converted to a great flame of fire that seared my heart; and the Eternal music I used to hear became a clamour, more frightening than the roar of a lion. In most countries the young men win while the parents lose. The woman is looked upon as a commodity, downloadd and delivered from one house to another.
In time her beauty fades and she becomes like an old piece of furniture left in a dark corner. The woman of yesterday was a happy wife, but the woman of today is a miserable mistress. In the past she walked blindly in the light, but now she walks open-eyed in the dark. She was beautiful in her ignorance, virtuous in her simplicity, and strong in her weakness.
Today she has become ugly in her ingenuity, superficial and heartless in her knowledge. Will the day ever come when beauty and knowledge, ingenuity and virtue, and weakness of body and strength of spirit will be united in a woman? I am one of those who believe that spiritual progress is a rule of human life, but the approach to perfection is slow and painful. If a woman elevates herself in one respect and is retarded in another, it is because the rough trail that leads to the mountain peak is not free of ambushes of thieves and lairs of wolves.
This strange generation exists between sleeping and waking. It holds in its hands the soil of the past and the seeds of the future. However, we find in every city a woman who symbolizes the future.
In the city of Beirut, Selma Karamy was the symbol of the future Oriental woman, but, like many who lie ahead of their time, she became the victim of the present; and like a flower snatched from its stem and carried away by the current of a river, she walked in the miserable procession of the defeated. Mansour Bey Galib and Selma were married, and lived together in a beautiful house at Ras Beyrouth, where all the wealthy dignitaries resided.
Farris Effandi Karamy was left in his solitary home in the midst of his garden and orchards like a lonely shepherd amid his flock. The days and merry nights of the wedding passed, but the honeymoon left memories of times of bitter sorrow, as wars leave skulls and dead bones on the battlefield. The dignity of an Oriental wedding inspires the hearts of young men and women, but its termination may drop them like millstones to the bottom of the sea.
Their exhilaration is like footprints on sand which remain only till they are washed away by the waves.
Spring departed, and so did summer and autumn, but my love for Selma increased day by day until it became a kind of mute worship, the feeling that an orphan has toward the soul of his mother in Heaven. My yearning was converted to blind sorrow that could see nothing but itself, and the passion that drew tears from my eyes was replaced by perplexity that sucked the blood from my heart, and my sighs of affection became a constant prayer for the happiness of Selma and her husband and peace for her father.
Mansour Bey was a man to whom all the luxuries of life came easily; but, in spite of that, he was dissatisfied and rapacious. The Bishop went to church in the morning and spent the rest of the day pilfering from the widows, orphans, and simple minded people. But Mansour Bey spent his days in pursuit of sexual satisfaction. On Sunday, Bishop Bulos Galib preached his Gospel; but during weekdays he never practiced what he preached, occupying himself with political intrigues of the locality.
Bishop Bulos was a thief who hid himself under the cover of night, while his nephew, Mansour Bey, was a swindler who walked proudly in daylight.
However, the people of Oriental nations place trust in such as they—wolves and butchers who ruin their country through covetousness and crush their neighbours with an iron hand. Why do I occupy these pages with words about the betrayers of poor nations instead of reserving all the space for the story of a miserable woman with a broken heart?
Why do I shed tears for oppressed peoples rather than keep all my tears for the memory of a weak woman whose life was snatched by the teeth of death?
A woman is to a nation as light is to a lamp. Will not the light be dim if the oil in the lamp is low? Autumn passed, and the wind blew the yellow leaves form the trees, making way for winter, which came howling and crying. I was still in the City of Beirut without a companion save my dreams, which would lift my spirit to the sky and then bury it deep in the bosom of the earth. The sorrowful spirit finds relaxation in solitude. It abhors people, as a wounded deer deserts the herd and lives in a cave until it is healed or dead.
One day I heard Farris Effandi was ill. I left my solitary abode and walked to his home, taking a new route, a lonely path between olive trees, avoiding the main road with its rattling carriage wheels.
His eyes were sunken and looked like two deep, dark valleys haunted by the ghosts of pain. The smile which had always enlivened his face was choked with pain and agony; and the bones of his gentle hands looked like naked branches trembling before the tempest.
Approaching slowly, I pronounced her name in a voice that seemed more like sighing than whispering. She moved fearfully, as if she had been interrupted in a terrible dream, and sat up, looking at me with glazed eyes, doubting whether I was a ghost or a living being.
See how time has changed the course of our lives and left us in these ruins. In this place spring united us in a bond of love, and in this place has brought us together before the throne of death. How beautiful was spring, and how terrible is this winter! Let us stand like brave soldiers before the enemy and face his weapons. If we are killed, we shall die as martyrs; and if we win, we shall live as heroes. Braving obstacles and hardships is nobler than retreat to tranquillity. The butterfly that hovers around the lamp until it dies is more admirable than the mole that lives in a dark tunnel.
Come, Selma, let us walk this rough path firmly, with our eyes toward the sun so that we may not see the skulls and serpents among the rocks and thorns.
Cheer up, Selma, wipe away your tears and remove the sorrow from your face. Rise, and let us sit by the bed of your father, because his life depends on your life, and your smile is his only cure. Will a hungry man give his bread to another hungry man? Or will sick man give medicine to another which he himself needs badly? They were like two equal forces, wearing each other away silently. They were two pure souls, one departing and the other agonized with grief, embracing in love and death; and I was between the two with my own troubled heart.
We were three people, gathered and crushed by the hands of destiny; an old man like a dwelling ruined by flood, a young woman whose symbol was a lily beheaded by the sharp edge of a sickle, and a young man who was a weak sapling, bent by a snowfall; and all of us were toys in the hands of fate. I have experienced all its phases with equanimity. I lost your mother when you were three years of age, and she left you as a precious treasure in my lap. You have been my only consolation in this life because you were the image of your mother in every deed and word.
Now, I grow old, and my only resting place is between the soft wings of death. Be comforted, my beloved daughter, because I have lived long enough to see you as a woman. Be happy because I shall live in you after my death. My departure today would be no different from my going tomorrow or the day after, for our days are perishing like the leaves of autumn.
The hour of my days are perishing like the leaves of autumn. Then he put his hand under his pillow and pulled out a small picture in a gold frame. Oh, mother! The mother is every thing — she is our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our strength in weakness.
She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness. He who loses his mother loses a pure soul who blesses and guards him constantly. Every thing in nature bespeaks the mother. The sun is the mother of earth and gives it its nourishment of hear; it never leaves the universe at night until it has put the earth to sleep to the song of the sea and the hymn of birds and brooks.
And this earth is the mother of trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses them, and weans them. The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their great fruits and seeds. And the mother, the prototype of all existence, is the eternal spirit, full of beauty and love. Now listen to me and I shall let you hear her words.
It will pour all its vitality into the next branch so that it will grow and fill the empty place. She was left in the care of a loving and truthful husband; she found consolation in her little daughter, and who will be my consolation when you pass away?
You have been my father and mother and the companion of my youth. How can a broken heart find consolation in a disappointed soul?
He is the friend of my soul, but I have already placed a heavy burden of sorrow upon him and dimmed his eyes with my tears till he can see nothing but darkness. The old man listened to her with depressed spirit. The old man listened to her with depressed spirit, trembling like the light of a lamp before the wind. I have broken the bars of this cage; let me fly and do not stop me, for your mother is calling me. The sky is clear and the sea is calm and the boat is ready to sail; do not delay its voyage.
Let my body rest with those who are resting; let my dream end and my soul awaken with the dawn; let your soul embrace mine and give me the kiss of hope; let no drops of sorrow or bitterness fall upon my body lest the flowers and grass refuse their nourishment. Do not shed tears of misery upon my hand, for they may grow thorns upon my grave. Do not draw lines of agony upon my forehead, for the wind may pass and read them and refuse to carry the dust of my bones to the green prairies I love you, my child, while I lived, and I shall love you when I am dead, and my soul shall always watch over you and protect you.
Be her help and friend in need, and do not let her mourn, because mourning for the dead is a mistake. Repeat to her pleasant tales and sing for her the songs of life so that she may forget her sorrows. Remember me to your father; ask him to tell you the stories of your youth and tell him that I loved him in the person of his son in the last hour of my life.
The days of slavery are gone, and my soul seeks the freedom of the skies. And do not call the priest to my bedside, because his incantations would not save me if I were a sinner, nor would it rush me to Heaven if I were innocent. The will of humanity cannot change the will of God, as an astrologer cannot change the course of the stars. But after my death let the doctors and priest do what they please, for my ship will continue sailing until it reaches its destination.
Oh, Selma It was cold. Then she raised her head and looked at his face. It was covered with the veil of death. Selma was so choked that she could not shed tears, nor sigh, nor even move. March 1, Sold by: English ASIN: Enabled X-Ray: Not Enabled. Poetry Books. Book Series. Is this feature helpful? Thank you for your feedback. Share your thoughts with other customers.
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Please try again later. Hardcover Verified download. I don't know how I've lived 21 years without this book. It's absurdly beautiful and will move you beyond words. I first borrowed this from my library, but before I even got a page through I knew I'd have to download a copy of my own to reread and study.
It's definitely one of my favorite books. I'm honestly thinking about downloading several copies to give to my friends and family so they have no excuse not to read it, it's that good.
This should be required reading for everyone on Earth. If you're wondering whether or not to read it, I'll make a decision for you: DO IT. You won't regret it. site Edition Verified download. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. This reviewer remembers getting his first copy of the book in Boston during the early 's, when it was widely circulated among college students at the time, as well as young adults who were starting out in that decade.
It had a fresh take on the institutions of life, and offered that generation a sense of breaking away from convention without being particularly radical. It was a way to be non-conforming, without departing too far from traditional values. This may explain why it surged in popularity in the s, when the generation coming of age at that time had a new kind of permission to break away, yet have a sense of a valid value system at the same time. To read and talk about The Prophet became a quite "cool" thing to do.
Gibran's work had been around for a long time, but it is the type of literature that has a way of being rediscovered as each new generation comes along. This is at least partially why it retains its popularity over so many years.
I lost my original copy forty or so years ago. You can read it a thousand times and you'll learn something every time you read it.
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I plan to be buried with the copy I just bought. There is more wisdom within it's pages and if you live by the lessons taught there you're sure to live a much richer life.
Try reading it with your soul mate. This is the most beloved, and masterfully written poetic essay by Artist, Philosopher, and Writer, Lebanese-American Author Kahlil Gibran , he paints a colorful picture with words describing the Human Condition. This book has 26 prose poetry fables written in English, and published in by Alfred A. Highly in demand it is always being printed, and has been translated into 40 languages.
The Prophet's main character is named Almustafa, the setting is he has been away from home 12 years and he is about to broad a ship to take him home, when he is stopped by a group of people, and he discusses topics that have to do with the human condition.
Dealing with the rigors of love, marriage, children, giving, eating, drinking, work, joy, sorrow, houses, clothes, downloading, selling, crime, punishment, laws, freedom, reason, passion, pain, friendship, talking, time, good, evil, prayer, self knowledge, pleasure, beauty, religion, and death.However, the people of Oriental nations place trust in such as they—wolves and butchers who ruin their country through covetousness and crush their neighbours with an iron hand.
Oh, mother! See all Editorial Reviews. It trembles before the breeze and opens its heart to day break and folds its leaves back when the shadow of night comes. In the Presence of Absence.