On the Prophet

During the latest reading of the poem, my soulmate clingingly seated next to me in an open air field, in that moonlit night with bonfire, began to sob vehemently, so hard that our fragile bench slightly shook and almost collapsed. I’m not sure what set her off in particular, but I suspect her reaction was as intensely personal as possible, and that’s sort of the beauty of the poem. In many ways, it is a mirror. Obviously or obliviously, poet triumphs over Nature by Art, as the artist views nature in the light of his creative imagination which endows and animates his creation with a perfection which nature lacks. What you get out of each of the segments will depend largely on where you are in your life, who you are right now. I am grappling with love, in an appalling situation, with fears about where I am in my life, with difficult feelings out of fear of being given the heave ho, and I am also on the verge of diving headlong into a new life, which is going to be completely different and indecipherably unfamiliar for me, and I’m living in a world that freaks me out. Though it is no mean feat, I am trying best to make sense of all of this right now, considering all of them as the comeuppances. Keep on struggling!

It seemed that “Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet” was speaking directly to me in scene after scene, image after image, explaining how to be happy, how to be whole, and how to let go of everything‚Ķ


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