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darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

Kahlil Gibran

LOVE


When love beckons to you follow him, though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant; and then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; for love is sufficient unto love.

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

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Mesazh i vjetër 19 Shkurt 2004 05:57
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
eliz
Veteran ne forum

Regjistruar: 16/10/2003
Vendbanimi: Toke
Mesazhe: 1679

I think it`s time to change the name of this forum to "Love is in the air"

Darke did i teach you nothing?:p

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Mesazh i vjetër 21 Shkurt 2004 10:29
eliz nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të eliz Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me eliz (me Mesazh Privat) Vizito faqen personale të eliz't! Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: eliz Shto eliz në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto eliz në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

All right with the change of name let's tell it to the administrators:p
... and sorry my teacher, but i am the worse alumn in love affairs:p

PS: let's look for a boyfriend to eliz:p

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Mesazh i vjetër 15 Mars 2004 06:52
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
eliz
Veteran ne forum

Regjistruar: 16/10/2003
Vendbanimi: Toke
Mesazhe: 1679

I really appreciate your concern about me but i will let you know when i need your help .In the mean time if you need anything you can always ask,and if i feel like helping you i`ll do it :p .

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Mesazh i vjetër 15 Mars 2004 08:23
eliz nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të eliz Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me eliz (me Mesazh Privat) Vizito faqen personale të eliz't! Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: eliz Shto eliz në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto eliz në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
Rossonero
MILANIST DERI NE VDEKJE

Regjistruar: 04/08/2003
Vendbanimi: Milan
Mesazhe: 99

Sa e bukur qenke ti Darke,tamom si syri i nates.me fal qe fola shqip

__________________
Milan-Milan,sempre con te!
Milan-Milan sono per te!

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Mesazh i vjetër 15 Mars 2004 12:48
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darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545



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Mesazh i vjetër 15 Mars 2004 16:31
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

The Madman (1918)

How I Became a Madman


You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen -- the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives -- I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, "Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves."
Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.
And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, "He is a madman." I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks."
Thus I became a madman.
And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.
But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.

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Mesazh i vjetër 16 Mars 2004 05:23
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

The Garden of the Prophet (1933)

And the night waxed deep, and Almustafa was dark with the night, and his spirit was as a cloud unspent. And he cried again:

"Heavy-laden is my soul with her own ripe fruit;
Heavy-laden is my soul with her fruit.
Who now will come and eat and be fulfilled?
My soul is overflowing with her wine.
Who now will pour and drink and be cooled of the desert heat?

"Would thatI were a tree flowerless and fruitless,
For the pain of abundance is more bitter than barrenness,
And the sorrow of the rich from whom no one will take
Is greater than the grief of the beggar to whom none would give.

"Would that I were a well, dry and parched , and men throwing stones into me;
For this were better and easier to be borne than to be a source of living water
When men pass by and will not drink.

"Would that I were a reed trodden under foot,
For that were better than to be a lyre of silvery strings
In a house whose lord has no fingers
And whose children are deaf."

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Mesazh i vjetër 16 Mars 2004 05:41
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

The Madman (1918)

The Eye

Said the Eye one day, "I see beyond these valleys a mountain veiled with blue mist. Is it not beautiful?"
The Ear listened, and after listening intently awhile, said, "But where is any mountain? I do not hear."
Then the Hand spoke and said, "I am trying in vain to feel it or touch it, and I can find no mountain."
And the Nose said, "There is no mountain, I cannor smell it."
Then the Eye turned the other way, and they all began to talk together about the Eye's strange delusion. And they said, "Something must be the matter with the Eye."

PS: i love this parable... for u eagle... eye...

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Mesazh i vjetër 16 Mars 2004 05:51
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
darke
Syri i Natës

Regjistruar: 24/08/2003
Vendbanimi: night
Mesazhe: 2545

Lebanese-American philosophical essayist, novelist, mystical poet, and artist.

Gibran Khalil Gibran was born on January 6, 1883, to the Maronite family of Gibran in Bsharri, a mountainous area in Northern Lebanon [Lebanon was a Turkish province part of Greater Syria (Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine) and subjugated to Ottoman dominion]. His mother Kamila Rahmeh was thirty when she begot Gibran from her third husband Khalil Gibran, who proved to be an irresponsible husband leading the family to poverty. Gibran had a half-brother six years older than him called Peter and two younger sisters, Mariana and Sultana, whom he was deeply attached to throughout his life, along with his mother. Kamila's family came from a prestigious religious background, which imbued the uneducated mother with a strong will and later on helped her raise up the family on her own in the U.S. Growing up in the lush region of Bsharri, Gibran proved to be a solitary and pensive child who relished the natural surroundings of the cascading falls, the rugged cliffs and the neighboring green cedars, the beauty of which emerged as a dramatic and symbolic influence to his drawings and writings. Being laden with poverty, he did not receive any formal education or learning, which was limited to regular visits to a village priest who doctrined him with the essentials of religion and the Bible, alongside Syriac and Arabic languages. Recognizing Gibran's inquisitive and alert nature, the priest began teaching him the rudiments of alphabet and language, opening up to Gibran the world of history, science, and language. At the age of ten, Gibran fell off a cliff, wounding his left shoulder, which remained weak for the rest of his life ever since this incident. To relocate the shoulder, his family strapped it to a cross and wrapped it up for forty days, a symbolic incident reminiscent of Christ's wanderings in the wilderness and which remained etched in Gibran's memory.

At the age of eight, Khalil Gibran, Gibran's father, was accused of tax evasion and was sent to prison as the Ottomon authorities confiscated the Gibrans' property and left them homeless. The family went to live with relatives for a while; however, the strong-willed mother decided that the family should immigrate to the U.S., seeking a better life and following in suit to Gibran's uncle who immigrated earlier. The father was released in 1894, but being an irresponsible head of the family he was undecided about immigration and remained behind in Lebanon.

On June 25, 1895, the Gibrans embarked on a voyage to the American shores of New York.

The Gibrans settled in Boston's South End, which at the time hosted the second largest Syrian community in the U.S. following New York. The culturally diverse area felt familiar to Kamila, who was comforted by the familiar spoken Arabic, and the widespread Arab customs. Kamila, now the bread-earner of the family, began to work as a peddler on the impoverished streets of South End Boston. At the time, peddling was the major source of income for most Syrian immigrants, who were negatively portrayed due to their unconventional Arab ways and their supposed idleness.

In the school, a registration mistake altered his name forever by shortening it to Kahlil Gibran, which remained unchanged till the rest of his life despite repeated attempts at restoring his full name. Gibran entered school on September 30, 1895, merely two months after his arrival in the U.S. Having no formal education, he was placed in an ungraded class reserved for immigrant children, who had to learn English from scratch. Gibran caught the eye of his teachers with his sketches and drawings, a hobby he had started during his childhood in Lebanon.

Gibran's curiosity led him to the cultural side of Boston, which exposed him to the rich world of the theatre, Opera and artistic Galleries. Prodded by the cultural scenes around him and through his artistic drawings, Gibran caught the attention of his teachers at the public school, who saw an artistic future for the boy. They contacted Fred Holland Day, an artist and a supporter of artists who opened up Gibran's cultural world and set him on the road to artistic fame...

Gibran's works were especially influential in the American popular culture in the 1960s. In 1904 Gibran had his first art exhibition in Boston. From 1908 to 1910 he studied art in Paris with August Rodin. In 1912 he settled in New York, where he devoted himself to writing and painting. Gibran's early works were written in Arabic, and from 1918 he published mostly in English. In 1920 he founded a society for Arab writers, Mahgar (al-Mahgar). Among its members were Mikha'il Na'ima (1889-1988), Iliya Abu Madi (1889-1957), Nasib Arida (1887-1946), Nadra Haddad (1881-1950), and Ilyas Abu Sabaka (1903-47). Gibran died in New York on April 10, 1931. Among his best-known works is THE PROPHET, a book of 26 poetic essays, which has been translated into over 20 languages. The Prophet, who has lived in a foreign city 12 years, is about to board a ship that will take him home. He is stopped by a group of people, whom he teaches the mysteries of life.

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Mesazh i vjetër 16 Mars 2004 06:17
darke nuk po viziton aktualisht forumin Kliko këtu për Profilin Personal të darke Kliko këtu për të kontaktuar me darke (me Mesazh Privat) Kërko mesazhe të tjera nga: darke Shto darke në listën e injorimit Printo vetëm këtë mesazh Shto darke në listën e monitorimit Ndrysho/Fshij Mesazhin Përgjigju Duke e Cituar
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