people

Some People

some people

Some people, we love them;
but we don’t get near them
because, from far, they are more seductive,
from far, they are more noble
from far, they are more precious.

Some people, we love them,
we do anything to be close to them,
we do everything to share every detail of our life with them,
it hurts to stay away from them,
it is impossible to imagine our life without them.

Some people, we love them,
we wish to live a beautiful story with them,
we come up with circumstances just to bump into them,
we come up with excuses just to see them,
we live a fantasy with them.

Some people, we love them,
but we keep it a secret to ourselves,
so we remain silent, even if it burns us,
we don’t declare our love, because the obstacles are numerous,
and the consequences are frightening,
and it is best for us that the door stays shut between us.

Some people, we love them,
we fill the earth with their love and we speak about them to the world,
we constantly whisper their name,
we need their presence… like water…like air,
we suffocate when they are not around.

Some people, we love them,
because they are available,
and our need to be loved pulls us to them,
because time flies, we age, and it scares us to stay without a companion.

Some people, we love them,
because they deserve nothing but to be loved,
we learn from them,
we build with them,
we paint the color of life with them,
we do everything to keep them happy.

Some people, we love them,
but they don’t love us back,
so we break and fall,
we never forget them,
we love no one but them,
and we cry them over again, every time we fail to win their love.

Some people, we love them,
we just wait until they see us,
until they love us in return,
until they love us as much as we love them.

~ Khalil Gibran

Khalil Gibran (1883-1931) was born in Bsharri, Lebanon. He immigrated with his parents to Boston in 1895, and later settled in New York City. His works, written in both Arabic and English, are full of lyrical outpourings and express his deeply religious and mystical nature. His work The Prophet (1923), a book of poetic essays, achieved cult status in modern literature. Gibran died in New York City.

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The King

The King

In a golden wheat field he worked all day long
The boy who smiled no matter summer or fall
Content with whatever life brought on the way
His world was euphoric until he heard the call

On horseback flocking from all over the town
Seeking the true holder of that majestic ring
The Men roared and grabbed hold of the boy
Bowed down and screamed you are our King

Astonished, shocked and slightly bewildered
He screamed aloud I am not the one you seek
I am just an ordinary boy who toils in the field
For this grandeur and chair I am just too weak

But he was taken against his pleading and cries
Like as if his anointment was written in stone
Wrapped in a Silver robe, the ring in his hand
The boy, the King, mighty owner of the throne

So with the days of past engraved in his mind
Moments when he so wanted his heart to sing
My kingdom will be just the best in the world
And the whole country cried long live the king

And then his reign started with valor and zest
For he had to establish his hold on the crown
Imposed taxes, waged wars, held an iron fist
Spared none conquered each city every town

Now no man was allowed to do as he pleased
And soon all realized what deed they had done
Lamented on the fact they had to follow rules
They wished a king their choice the chosen one

So now they decided that the moment is here
What seemed whispers soon became the shout
We don’t want the king down with the throne
The royal palace was invaded the king was out

Standing in wilderness the king saw the moon
The boy the loner who was made an utter fool
Vowed in his heart that one day he will return
For what else is there for a king to do but rule

 

 

I leave it to my readers how they perceive this story of the boy…… whats your take on it ?