Of Marriage

Flipping through the pages of Khalil Gibran’s works, after a long time, came across some beautiful excerpts. Difficult to find a concurrence these days, but nonetheless, sharing one, as sort of a dedication too.

Then Almitra spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?

And he answered saying :

You were born together, and together you shall be for evermore.

You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness.

And let the winds of heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love :

Let it rather be a moving sea between shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone, though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near together :

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.



He looked with an un-interrupted gaze, a rapt attention, which communicated nothing in specific. It had an emptiness of a deep surprise or disbelief as he continued to sit and gaze at the stage. The artists had been immersed in their performance, subconsciously aware of an audience, glued and applauding.

He had gone there specifically to drown the echoes of a critical mind. Those that had made him one of the best critic of art, in town. But the profession had given him a perspective, that for centuries was considered suicidal. One that drives away beauty and what have you, from life..

This was an invitation from an actor friend. As he let his consciousness merge with the performers, his friend tapped at his shoulder..

“Dude! Sometimes just see things as they are.. like a detached observer.. dispense with the critic’s mind sometimes..“

“Hey Peter! I’m sorry, didn’t notice your coming.. and.. well! There is a difference between being disinterested and uninterested. I get involved with disinterest. I’m not a scavenger, fishing for trash and neither the drift of a wind – permeable anywhere…But thanks for the invite, it really is a pleasure to witness this..”

“Glad that you like it…, good that it’s worthy of compliments from you..”

Interesting it is that you constantly remind me that I breathe and live beyond my work too. These were the things that you came to me for, when you struggled as an actor. A critic’s deep intent was to see perfection, that we are capable of .You needed one, then. How ironic that today you reckon it as a disease to be cured of! You’re a dear friend, nonetheless!

“Yeah, hope you’re enjoying it too, and my presence is not a pre-occupation.. “

Audience breaks into clapping. Both of them take another dive, losing the headiness of knowing who they were, as the new act began..