Letters of Earthly Life Past


May Ziadeh to Kahlil Gibran

Mai wrote to Jabran a letter of gentle admonition:

When I was sitting to write, I used to forget who you are and where you are, and I often forget that there is a man to talk to as you, so I often talk to you as I speak to myself, sometimes as if you were a companion to me in school, but he is floating on that morale, an emotion of respect. Privacy, there is no habit like that between a girl and a girl…Is it the distance, lack of personal dating, and steam between us that used to wear the truth of that correspondence—a dress of nostalgia? It may be but your position in my mind and appreciation was the source of this confidence that appeared since its inception, as if it was innate; it did not wait for time to strengthen it nor experience to prove it. The message preceded the anthem, so it sized itself against some words, fearing what might be. I’ve been dragging a mechanism, and it’s been six or seven weeks without writing because I’ve been saying to myself: We should stand here…But we didn’t stand, we took a step but jumped.

-I send this message after 8 years of intellectual friendship.

-Tomorrow, God willing, we will publish another part of the message.

—Mi (Mai or May)

May to Gibran:

Gibran! I’ve written all these pages to clarify the word love, that those who don’t show the appearance of love, uncover love deep down as a terrible dynamic force, and they may disrupt those who share their emotions, because they hadn’t measured the pressure of emotions that hadn’t exploded. 

They prefer to mislead their hearts from the deposits from their hearts, and to distract their hearts from what has nothing to do with emotion. They prefer any alienation, any misery…and is there any misery and alienation other than the uniting of the heart on the sufficiency of scarce drops?

What is the meaning of this I write? I don’t know what I mean by it! But I know that you are my ′′beloved” and I fear love. I say this knowing very little love is clear. Drought, drought, and nothing in love is better than not enough.

How can I be able to give you this? 

And how did he overdo it? I don’t know, Praise be to God I write it on paper and do not say it, because if you were present in the body, you would have escaped in shame after this, and I would have disappeared for a long time, so I will not let you see me until you have forgotten this. Even writing I blame myself for it sometimes, because I have all this freedom…I trust in you, I have believed from the beginning everything you’ve said…



Kahlil Gibran’s Diary:

The sun went down beyond the horizon and through shapes and colors, one sparkling star is the flower. See, isn’t our earth inhabited by humans who love and long for what they love? Maybe she found someone like me…has one Gibran, to which she writes now…and twilight fills space, and knows that darkness leaves twilight, that light follows the darkness, and that night will leave the day, and the day will follow the night as so many times before, for one to see what one loves. So all the evil of the twilight leaks into her, and all the bad of the night, so she throws the pen aside to take shelter from the monster in one name: “Gibran.”

—Gibran Kahlil Gibran


Previously: Surprise Mascot and A Return to Daily Life

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