THE MADMAN HIS PARABLES AND POEMS THE THREE ILLUSTRATIONS IN THIS VOLUME ARE REPRODUCED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR THE MADMAN HIS PARABLES AND POEMS BY KAHLIL GIBRAN NEW YORKALFRED A. KNOPFMCMXVIII COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY KAHLIL GIBRAN Published September, 1918 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS God, 9 My Friend, 11 The Scarecrow, 14 The Sleep-Walkers, 15 The Wise Dog, 17 The Two Hermits, 18 On Giving and Taking, 20 The Seven Selves, 21 War, 24 The Fox, 26 The Wise King, 27 Ambition, 29 The New Pleasure, 31 The Other Language, 32 The Pomegranate, 35 The Two Cages, 37 The Three Ants, 38 The Grave-Digger, 40 On the Steps of the Temple, 41 The Blessed City, 42 The Good God and the Evil God, 45 "Defeat," 46 Night and the Madman, 49 Faces, 52 The Greater Sea, 53 Crucified, 57 The Astronomer, 59 The Great Longing, 60 Said a Blade of Grass, 62 The Eye, 63 The Two Learned Men, 64 When My Sorrow Was Born, 65 And When My Joy Was Born, 67 "The Perfect World," 69 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 curséd 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. GOD In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, "Master, I am thy slave. Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee for ever more." But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away. And after a thousand years I ascended the holy mountain and again spoke unto God, saying, "Creator, I am thy creation. Out of clay hast thou fashioned me and to thee I owe mine all." And God made no answer, but like a thousand swift wings passed away. And after a thousand years I climbed the holy mountain and spoke unto God again, saying, "Father, I am thy son. In pity and love thou hast given me birth, and through love and worship I shall inherit thy kingdom." And God made no answer, and like the mist that veils the distant hills he passed away. And after a thousand years I climbed the sacred mountain and again spoke unto God, saying, "My God, my aim and my fulfilment; I am thy yesterday and thou art my tomorrow.