A Tale of Two Worlds:
Mankind was a force, whose shadow's dread demands made it so that no one knew truly its role in destiny's grand plan. I was no exception, and in my young life, I was forced to confront many hidden, mystic sides of historical and spiritual aspects. My story is unique, and each small anecdote, though it may sound bizarre, is vital to my tale to justify their actions and give reason for their expression. The saintly figure I had the privilege of meeting was virtuous and kind, and in her darkest hours, she was indifferent to scorn and praise, and in my restless curiosity, I tried to record as many episodes from her life in order to celebrate the unique person that she was, and, in these pages, I attempted to recount from my humble memories the miraculous episodes which took place, but I am well aware that any reader would likely find this narration utterly dubious, and I would not wish for anyone to believe in any of the stories within, because had anyone asked me to believe in these strange episode, I would never have believed in it, unless I saw it with my own eyes, and then too, I would have to look twice.
As I embarked on the arduous journey of regurgitating my tale, I do not wish to place a claim upon the reader's trust or sympathy for I do not have the right to demand anyone believe a word of it, nor do I feel that by communicating my sentiments and stories of this saint to the oblivious world would make the heroine of my story any more real or my experience any less lucid.
The tale I am to recount with caution and care, had for long, hijacked my senses and overpowered all peace from my young years. But I wished to narrate this story fully and plainly, hoping to avoid any presentiments of doubt or deceit, for although only truth is presented here, I had resigned myself to the inevitability that my story may be doubted, but no reader shall I ever hold in contempt should they doubt or dismiss my words, for I had been once the greatest sceptic of what I had seen and experienced myself.
Let me then be buried far away,
Far from my native land and sea,
Place me beneath the sun's ray,
Amidst the sands and desert debris!
So I shall not be left to linger alone,
And never be lost beneath a stone,
And each day, when the Bedouin sings,
And falcons flee on unfettered wings,
I shall awake like the new-born year,
Though death shall still be here,
But free like the Arabs, I will love,
The shades of their date palm grove!
As I Come to the Edge of Death,
Oh, do not forget me when I'm dead,
And toss me not away to eternal dread,
Nor leave me in the darkness of a tomb,
Amidst its fabled miseries and gloom!
Oh, I cannot die and be lost forever,
And from all loved ones, cease and sever;
Or for centuries falter and decline,
In a pit of earth without a song or sign!
Upon my death, will they decree,
And will all my loved ones agree,
To intern me below an errant shrine,
Where no list or legacy shall be mine,
Where this flower-like body will decay,
And bloom of my youth perish away!
I came to the Edge of Sorrow,
Oh, do not hate me when I'm dead and gone,
For I am my own soul and death is but a pawn,
Which seizes life but O, souls are never gone,
And I shall remain in the memory of my song!
And thus dead, when I am lost to thee,
Do not entrap me or enclose this body,
Nor shut my youthful face in a casket,
Nor roll me in a coffin or burial basket,
And O do not take me to the funeral homes,
Where the dead are left to rot with gnomes,
And corpses are prepared to sink below,
The ruins of tombs, vanished ages ago!
Oh, the very thought embeds pain and sadness,
Which threatens my very soul with madness!
I long to be left in the sand and the desert ways
Where the sunlight outshines long dying days,
And soundless and serene, the Arabs shall pass,
Over the dunes where my bones will amass.
O how soft the sandy hills shall stream,
Solacing me in this dwelling of dream!
And every grain of this golden sand,
Shall whisper words I can understand.
1147146460
Mankind was a force, whose shadow's dread demands made it so that no one knew truly its role in destiny's grand plan. I was no exception, and in my young life, I was forced to confront many hidden, mystic sides of historical and spiritual aspects. My story is unique, and each small anecdote, though it may sound bizarre, is vital to my tale to justify their actions and give reason for their expression. The saintly figure I had the privilege of meeting was virtuous and kind, and in her darkest hours, she was indifferent to scorn and praise, and in my restless curiosity, I tried to record as many episodes from her life in order to celebrate the unique person that she was, and, in these pages, I attempted to recount from my humble memories the miraculous episodes which took place, but I am well aware that any reader would likely find this narration utterly dubious, and I would not wish for anyone to believe in any of the stories within, because had anyone asked me to believe in these strange episode, I would never have believed in it, unless I saw it with my own eyes, and then too, I would have to look twice.
As I embarked on the arduous journey of regurgitating my tale, I do not wish to place a claim upon the reader's trust or sympathy for I do not have the right to demand anyone believe a word of it, nor do I feel that by communicating my sentiments and stories of this saint to the oblivious world would make the heroine of my story any more real or my experience any less lucid.
The tale I am to recount with caution and care, had for long, hijacked my senses and overpowered all peace from my young years. But I wished to narrate this story fully and plainly, hoping to avoid any presentiments of doubt or deceit, for although only truth is presented here, I had resigned myself to the inevitability that my story may be doubted, but no reader shall I ever hold in contempt should they doubt or dismiss my words, for I had been once the greatest sceptic of what I had seen and experienced myself.
Let me then be buried far away,
Far from my native land and sea,
Place me beneath the sun's ray,
Amidst the sands and desert debris!
So I shall not be left to linger alone,
And never be lost beneath a stone,
And each day, when the Bedouin sings,
And falcons flee on unfettered wings,
I shall awake like the new-born year,
Though death shall still be here,
But free like the Arabs, I will love,
The shades of their date palm grove!
As I Come to the Edge of Death,
Oh, do not forget me when I'm dead,
And toss me not away to eternal dread,
Nor leave me in the darkness of a tomb,
Amidst its fabled miseries and gloom!
Oh, I cannot die and be lost forever,
And from all loved ones, cease and sever;
Or for centuries falter and decline,
In a pit of earth without a song or sign!
Upon my death, will they decree,
And will all my loved ones agree,
To intern me below an errant shrine,
Where no list or legacy shall be mine,
Where this flower-like body will decay,
And bloom of my youth perish away!
I came to the Edge of Sorrow,
Oh, do not hate me when I'm dead and gone,
For I am my own soul and death is but a pawn,
Which seizes life but O, souls are never gone,
And I shall remain in the memory of my song!
And thus dead, when I am lost to thee,
Do not entrap me or enclose this body,
Nor shut my youthful face in a casket,
Nor roll me in a coffin or burial basket,
And O do not take me to the funeral homes,
Where the dead are left to rot with gnomes,
And corpses are prepared to sink below,
The ruins of tombs, vanished ages ago!
Oh, the very thought embeds pain and sadness,
Which threatens my very soul with madness!
I long to be left in the sand and the desert ways
Where the sunlight outshines long dying days,
And soundless and serene, the Arabs shall pass,
Over the dunes where my bones will amass.
O how soft the sandy hills shall stream,
Solacing me in this dwelling of dream!
And every grain of this golden sand,
Shall whisper words I can understand.
40 Laws of Love
A Tale of Two Worlds:
Mankind was a force, whose shadow's dread demands made it so that no one knew truly its role in destiny's grand plan. I was no exception, and in my young life, I was forced to confront many hidden, mystic sides of historical and spiritual aspects. My story is unique, and each small anecdote, though it may sound bizarre, is vital to my tale to justify their actions and give reason for their expression. The saintly figure I had the privilege of meeting was virtuous and kind, and in her darkest hours, she was indifferent to scorn and praise, and in my restless curiosity, I tried to record as many episodes from her life in order to celebrate the unique person that she was, and, in these pages, I attempted to recount from my humble memories the miraculous episodes which took place, but I am well aware that any reader would likely find this narration utterly dubious, and I would not wish for anyone to believe in any of the stories within, because had anyone asked me to believe in these strange episode, I would never have believed in it, unless I saw it with my own eyes, and then too, I would have to look twice.
As I embarked on the arduous journey of regurgitating my tale, I do not wish to place a claim upon the reader's trust or sympathy for I do not have the right to demand anyone believe a word of it, nor do I feel that by communicating my sentiments and stories of this saint to the oblivious world would make the heroine of my story any more real or my experience any less lucid.
The tale I am to recount with caution and care, had for long, hijacked my senses and overpowered all peace from my young years. But I wished to narrate this story fully and plainly, hoping to avoid any presentiments of doubt or deceit, for although only truth is presented here, I had resigned myself to the inevitability that my story may be doubted, but no reader shall I ever hold in contempt should they doubt or dismiss my words, for I had been once the greatest sceptic of what I had seen and experienced myself.
Let me then be buried far away,
Far from my native land and sea,
Place me beneath the sun's ray,
Amidst the sands and desert debris!
So I shall not be left to linger alone,
And never be lost beneath a stone,
And each day, when the Bedouin sings,
And falcons flee on unfettered wings,
I shall awake like the new-born year,
Though death shall still be here,
But free like the Arabs, I will love,
The shades of their date palm grove!
As I Come to the Edge of Death,
Oh, do not forget me when I'm dead,
And toss me not away to eternal dread,
Nor leave me in the darkness of a tomb,
Amidst its fabled miseries and gloom!
Oh, I cannot die and be lost forever,
And from all loved ones, cease and sever;
Or for centuries falter and decline,
In a pit of earth without a song or sign!
Upon my death, will they decree,
And will all my loved ones agree,
To intern me below an errant shrine,
Where no list or legacy shall be mine,
Where this flower-like body will decay,
And bloom of my youth perish away!
I came to the Edge of Sorrow,
Oh, do not hate me when I'm dead and gone,
For I am my own soul and death is but a pawn,
Which seizes life but O, souls are never gone,
And I shall remain in the memory of my song!
And thus dead, when I am lost to thee,
Do not entrap me or enclose this body,
Nor shut my youthful face in a casket,
Nor roll me in a coffin or burial basket,
And O do not take me to the funeral homes,
Where the dead are left to rot with gnomes,
And corpses are prepared to sink below,
The ruins of tombs, vanished ages ago!
Oh, the very thought embeds pain and sadness,
Which threatens my very soul with madness!
I long to be left in the sand and the desert ways
Where the sunlight outshines long dying days,
And soundless and serene, the Arabs shall pass,
Over the dunes where my bones will amass.
O how soft the sandy hills shall stream,
Solacing me in this dwelling of dream!
And every grain of this golden sand,
Shall whisper words I can understand.
Mankind was a force, whose shadow's dread demands made it so that no one knew truly its role in destiny's grand plan. I was no exception, and in my young life, I was forced to confront many hidden, mystic sides of historical and spiritual aspects. My story is unique, and each small anecdote, though it may sound bizarre, is vital to my tale to justify their actions and give reason for their expression. The saintly figure I had the privilege of meeting was virtuous and kind, and in her darkest hours, she was indifferent to scorn and praise, and in my restless curiosity, I tried to record as many episodes from her life in order to celebrate the unique person that she was, and, in these pages, I attempted to recount from my humble memories the miraculous episodes which took place, but I am well aware that any reader would likely find this narration utterly dubious, and I would not wish for anyone to believe in any of the stories within, because had anyone asked me to believe in these strange episode, I would never have believed in it, unless I saw it with my own eyes, and then too, I would have to look twice.
As I embarked on the arduous journey of regurgitating my tale, I do not wish to place a claim upon the reader's trust or sympathy for I do not have the right to demand anyone believe a word of it, nor do I feel that by communicating my sentiments and stories of this saint to the oblivious world would make the heroine of my story any more real or my experience any less lucid.
The tale I am to recount with caution and care, had for long, hijacked my senses and overpowered all peace from my young years. But I wished to narrate this story fully and plainly, hoping to avoid any presentiments of doubt or deceit, for although only truth is presented here, I had resigned myself to the inevitability that my story may be doubted, but no reader shall I ever hold in contempt should they doubt or dismiss my words, for I had been once the greatest sceptic of what I had seen and experienced myself.
Let me then be buried far away,
Far from my native land and sea,
Place me beneath the sun's ray,
Amidst the sands and desert debris!
So I shall not be left to linger alone,
And never be lost beneath a stone,
And each day, when the Bedouin sings,
And falcons flee on unfettered wings,
I shall awake like the new-born year,
Though death shall still be here,
But free like the Arabs, I will love,
The shades of their date palm grove!
As I Come to the Edge of Death,
Oh, do not forget me when I'm dead,
And toss me not away to eternal dread,
Nor leave me in the darkness of a tomb,
Amidst its fabled miseries and gloom!
Oh, I cannot die and be lost forever,
And from all loved ones, cease and sever;
Or for centuries falter and decline,
In a pit of earth without a song or sign!
Upon my death, will they decree,
And will all my loved ones agree,
To intern me below an errant shrine,
Where no list or legacy shall be mine,
Where this flower-like body will decay,
And bloom of my youth perish away!
I came to the Edge of Sorrow,
Oh, do not hate me when I'm dead and gone,
For I am my own soul and death is but a pawn,
Which seizes life but O, souls are never gone,
And I shall remain in the memory of my song!
And thus dead, when I am lost to thee,
Do not entrap me or enclose this body,
Nor shut my youthful face in a casket,
Nor roll me in a coffin or burial basket,
And O do not take me to the funeral homes,
Where the dead are left to rot with gnomes,
And corpses are prepared to sink below,
The ruins of tombs, vanished ages ago!
Oh, the very thought embeds pain and sadness,
Which threatens my very soul with madness!
I long to be left in the sand and the desert ways
Where the sunlight outshines long dying days,
And soundless and serene, the Arabs shall pass,
Over the dunes where my bones will amass.
O how soft the sandy hills shall stream,
Solacing me in this dwelling of dream!
And every grain of this golden sand,
Shall whisper words I can understand.
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40 Laws of Love
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940184457093 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Ubada Mir |
| Publication date: | 03/16/2025 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 12 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
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