Yesterday, I. sent this poem to me. It is by Khalil Gibran.
Gibran is the one author who initiated me into the world of literature. When I was a school boy, every Sunday morning I would read his translated work in Ajit newspaper. I can still remember those sunny winter days, when my imagination took flight at the wings of Gibran's tender words.
I am taking the delight to share it with you all:
And then a scholar said, Speak of talking.
And he answered, saying: You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed
unfold its wings but cannot fly.
There are those among you who seek the talkative thorough fear of
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.