You would measure time
the measureless and the immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct
and even direct the course of your spirit
according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream
upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you
is aware of life’s timelessness, and knows
that yesterday is but today’s memory
and tomorrow is today’s dream.
And that that which sings and contemplates in you
is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment
which scattered the stars into space.
Who among you does not feel
that his power to love is boundless?
And yet who does not feel that very love,
though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being,
and moving not from love thought to love thought,
nor from love deeds to other love deeds?
And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless?
But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons,
let each season encircle all the other seasons,
and let today embrace the past with remembrance
and the future with longing.
Khalil Gibran * 1. 6. 1883; † 4. 10.1931