My Friend

My friend, I am not what I seem.

Seeming is but a garment I wear—a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.

The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain forever more, unperceived, unapproachable.

I would not have thee believe in what I say, nor trust in what I do—for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound, and my deeds thy own hopes in action.

When thou sayest, "The wind bloweth eastward," I say, "Aye, it doth blow eastward"; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.

Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have thee understand. I would be at sea alone.

When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the shadowless light that treads the valley, for thou canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see.

I would be with night alone.

When thou ascendest to thy Heaven, I descend to my Hell—even then thou callest me across the unbridgeable gulf, "My companion, my comrade," and I call back to thee, "My comrade, my companion"—for I would not have thee see my Hell.

The flame would burn thy eyesight and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love thee too much not to shield thee from all harm.

I would be in Hell alone.

My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect—and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously.

And yet I am mad.

But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.

My friend, thou art not my friend.

But how shall I make thee understand?

My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand in hand.

by Khalil Gebran