The complete works of Gibran's prose poems

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The complete works of Gibran's prose poemsThe complete works of Gibran's prose poems

Jesus, my daughter's son, was born in Nazareth in January. On the night Jesus was born, several guests from the East came to our house. They passed through Esdraelon with the Midianite caravan to Egypt. They didn't find a place to stay at the inn, so they came to our house to lodge. I greeted them and said, "My daughter has just given birth to a son tonight. Please forgive me if I have not treated you well." They thanked me for the reception. After dinner, they said, "We want to meet the new baby." Mary's son described her as lovely, and Mary was also lovely. When the Persians saw Mary and the child, they took out of their bags silver and gold, myrrh, and frankincense, and offered them at the child's feet. Then they fell down and prayed in a language we did not understand. When I led them to the prepared bedroom, they still seemed to walk in awe of what they had just seen. In the morning they took leave of us and continued on their way to Egypt. At parting, they told me,cherry blossom wedding centerpiece, "The child is only a day old, but we see the light of God in his eyes and the smile of God on his lips." "We beseech you to take good care of him, and he will take care of all of you." Then they got on their camels, and we never saw them again. Mary was filled with wonder and amazement rather than joy at the new birth. She always looked at the child for a long time, then turned her head and stared at the distant sky from the window, as if she had seen something. There is a valley between our hearts. The child's body and mind are growing up,faux ficus tree, he is different from other children, temperament is lonely, not easy to control, I can not control. But everyone in Nazareth loved him, and I don't need to wonder why. He used to take away our food and give it to passers-by; the sweets I gave him were given to other children before he could taste them himself. He climbed up the fruit trees in my home to gather fruit, but never for himself. He ran races with his children, and sometimes, because he was faster, he slowed down his pace to let them finish first. Sometimes when I take him to bed, he says, "Tell my mother and others that it is only my body that sleeps, faux ficus tree ,artificial banyan trees, and my thoughts are with them until their thoughts come to me in the morning." He had many strange words in his childhood, but I was too old to remember them clearly. Now people say I'll never see him again. How can I believe it? I still hear his laughter, I hear his footsteps running beside me, and every time I kiss my daughter's cheek, his fragrance seeps into my heart and his body seems to fill my arms again. But isn't it strange that my daughter doesn't talk to me about her newborn baby? Sometimes I seem to miss him more than my daughter. She stands like a statue in the day, but my heart melts and turns into a stream. Maybe she knows something I don't. I wish she could tell me, too. Asaph, who was called the orator of Tyre. What can I say about his speech? Perhaps there was something about him that gave him the power to impress the listener, because he was handsome and his bright eyes shone on his face. Men and women pay more attention to his appearance than to his words. But there is always a spiritual force in his words, which controls the audience. As a young man, I had heard orators from Rome, Athens, and Alexandria, but the young Nazarene was not like them. Those orators attract the ear by the skill of choosing words and sentences. And when you listen to his speech, you will be fascinated and enter a realm you have never seen before. He would tell a story, a fable, unheard of in Syria. He seems to weave these stories and fables with the four seasons, just as time weaves years and ages. "The farmer went to the field to sow his seed," he would say at the beginning of the story. Or: "Once upon a time there was a rich man who owned many vineyards." Or: "a shepherd was counting his flock at dusk and found that a sheep was missing." These words bring the audience back to their simple selves and make them go back to the past. In our hearts we are all farmers, we all love the vineyard, and in our pastures of memory we have a shepherd and a flock of sheep, and lost sheep. We still have the plough, the wine press and the threshing floor in our hearts. He knows where we came from in the past, and he knows what long thread weaves us in the present. The Greek and Roman orators spoke to their audiences about the life that the mind could see, while the Nazarene spoke about a yearning that haunted the soul. Those who see life only slightly more clearly than you or I do; he sees it through the light of God. I often think of his speech to the crowd as a speech from the mountains to the plains. There was power in his words which the orators of Athens and Rome never had. Mary Magdalene I first met him in June. He was walking in the wheat field, and the maids and I happened to pass by. He was alone. His walk is different from others, and I have never seen him walk before. Others do not walk like him. So far, I can't tell whether his pace is fast or slow. My waitresses pointed at him and whispered shyly. I also stopped and raised my hand to greet him. But he didn't turn to look at me. I was angry and frustrated, and my whole body was as cold and trembling as if I had fallen into an ice cave. I dreamed of him that night. I was told later that I used to scream in my sleep and toss and turn in bed. I saw him again in August, this time through the window. He sat under the cypress tree opposite my garden, motionless, like the stone statues of Antioch and other northern cities. My Egyptian slave came and said, "Here comes the man again, sitting opposite your garden." I looked at him, and my soul trembled with my body,decorative palm trees, because he was so handsome. His body is extraordinary, and all parts of his body are so harmonious. I put on my Damascene clothes and left the house to go to him. Is it my loneliness or his fragrance that leads me to him? Is the hunger in my eyes looking for his beauty, or is his beauty looking for my eyes? I still don't understand this. hacartificialtree.com

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