Chapter 19 Chivalrous Anthology

You have your thoughts, I have mine You have your thoughts and I have mine. You have your thoughts——a stubborn tree whose roots are holding on to the traditional soil, and the tree struggles to grow upward; I have my thoughts——a cloud floating in the sky, and then falling nectar, turning into a stream Run to the sea, and then turn into a cloud and rise to the sky. You have your thoughts—a solid tower that cannot be held by time or blown by storms; I have mine—a tender grass that spreads in every direction, and you can see joy in their swaying . You have your thoughts—an old proposition that neither changes you nor changes itself; I have mine—a novelty that I sift every morning and evening, and it sifts me. .

You have your thoughts and I have mine. You have your thoughts—in your thoughts the strong among you overthrow the weak among you, the shrewd among you deceive the dull among you; I have my thoughts—in my thoughts , I plow the land with my pickaxe, harvest crops with my sickle, build houses with bricks, stones and mud, and weave clothes with wool and linen. You have your thoughts—in your thoughts, fame is your diligence, your prestige is your business; I have my thoughts—in my thoughts, I cast fame like two grains of sand on the shore of eternity. . You have your minds—in yours, the struggle for advancement and power; I have mine—in mine, the obsession with perfection and the desire for independence.

You have your thoughts—in your thoughts, longings for palaces and mansions, furniture to be made of inlaid sandalwood, rich carpets to be woven with silk thread; I have mine—in my In thought, I want to be a pure person of soul and body, no matter whether there is a stiff neck or not. You have your minds—in your minds you are to be titled magistrates; I have mine—in mine are to be useful servants. You have your thoughts and I have mine. In your minds, dictionaries of society and religion, long essays of skill and politics; in mine, few, plain, unquestionable truths. What your thoughts say is: "beauty, ugly girl, chaste woman, whore, clever mother, stupid sister"; what my thought says is: "every woman is the mother of every man, and every woman is every man's mother." A man's sister, every woman is every man's daughter."

Your thoughts say: "Thief, criminal, murderer, villain, rebel"; mine say: "The thief is the offspring of the monopolist, the criminal is the relic of the unjust, the murderer is the ally of the slain, A villain is the fruit of the violent, and evil is the fruit of the cruel." Your mind says: "Law, court, judge, punishment"; mine says: "If there is a law, then we all break it or obey it. If there is a ground rule, then We are all the same before it. Whoever hates the fallen is one of the fallen. Whoever withholds his hands from helping those thrown in the mud is a fallen in the mud. As for the The one who boasts of his superiority over the fall is boasting of his superiority over all mankind, and the one who boasts of his innocence is only boasting of the innocence of life itself."

Your mind says "Savvy, Creator, Professor, Sage, Genius, Philosopher, Patriarch"; mine says, "The Friendly, the Faithful, the True, the Upright, the Dedicated. Martyrdom By." Your mind says "Mosaicism, Brahmanism, Buddhism, Islam"; mine says, "There is but one religion - the pure, absolute religion. It manifests in different forms, but it will always be pure and absolute Religion. Its paths fork, but it's like the fingers of a hand are divided." Your mind says "heretical," "polytheist," "atheist," "apostate," "hypocrites"; "," Blind tube person ". "Orphans of Mind and Spirit".

Your thoughts say: "Rich man," "Poor man," "Giver," "Giver-receiver"; mine says: "There is no rich man but life, we are all poor; there is no man but life." Giver, we are all given." You have your thoughts and I have mine. Your thought says: "The nation consists in politics, parties, meetings, resolutions, treaties"; mine asserts: "The nation consists in labour, then labour, and again labour. In the laundry room, in the quarry, in the forest, in the office, in the printing factory Your thinking thinks that the dominant power is measured in armies, artillery, armored vehicles, submarines. Airplanes, poison gas; : There is no power except for the truth; no will except for the truth. Those who win by force and machinery, however long their reign, will eventually be vanquished.

Your mind separates the worker from the visionary, the doer from the finisher, the Sufi from the materialist; my mind understands that there is a unity of life, that they have multiple dimensions, standards, channels. , these are different from yours.Perhaps those of you who count as visionaries were originally among the practical ones.Perhaps the materialists who you consider practitioners are among the cranky. You have your thoughts and I have mine. The great-grandson of Noah in the "Bible" legend, there are also records about him in Arabic writings. Tso Nibuchadnezzar II (approximately 562 BC? 1 BC): King of the New Babylonian Kingdom.

Refers to Ramses II (approximately 1235 BC? 1 BC): the famous pharaoh of ancient Egypt. Mernie (247 BC-183 BC or 182 BC): North African Dataiji system. , Zeng led the army to invade Italy. ,threaten. ⑤ Ali: The cousin and son-in-law of the fourth orthodox caliph of Islam, Muhammad.You have your thoughts—follow them, wandering among ruins, mummies and fossils; I have my thoughts—I will observe and fly in the clouds. Pour out your thoughts—let us praise it sitting on the throne of bones; I have my thoughts—I listen and listen, wandering in distant and unknown valleys. You have your thoughts—one by one, you all play the flute to praise it, and dance with your hearts!I have my thoughts--which would rather have their dying breath than your flute; the prison than your dance-house.

You have your mind - it is the mind of all domesticated, allies and idlers; I have mine - it is all who are lost in their own country, strange to their nation, lonely among their kin and friends thought of. You have your thoughts and I have mine. You have your language, I have mine You have your language, I have mine You look for what you like in Arabic, and I look for something that matches my thoughts and feelings in Arabic. You have its vocabulary and its order, and I have what its vocabulary can only reveal but cannot reach, and its arrangement can only express but cannot attain. What you have in Arabic are dead, cold, mummified corpses, which you think are everything; what I have in Arabic are organisms which are worthless in themselves, whose value lies in the soul attached to them.

You have only one fixed way in Arabic; I have a changeless way in it, and I will not be satisfied with this way unless it conveys what is in me to the hearts of men. You have in Arabic your absolute rules and your dry, finite precepts; I have a song in it, whose melody, accent, and undertone I transform into a sound fixed in thought, an accent fixed in intention, and fixed in feeling in the light song. What you have in Arabic are dictionaries, tomes, encyclopedias; I have in them well-known words that the ear sifts and the mind memorizes, words that people say when they are happy or sad. You have in Arabic the words uttered by Abu-Eswad, Ibn-Oghari, and the annoying characters before and after them; I have in them mothers to sons, lovers Words to lovers, prayers, and quiet nights.

You have "authentic" "standard speech" in Arabic, not "vulgar" "figures of speech"; I have the feeding soliloquy of the lonely in it-they are all standard, and the choke of the painful The whimpers—they were all eloquent, with the stammer of the amazed—they were all standard and idiomatic. You have in Arabic weaving, mosaic, adornment, and all fictions and fabrications beyond these jugglings; I have in it words: uttering them raises the hearer above them; Writing them out opens up a rhetorical indefinable space before the reader. You pick and choose among the rags of your languages; but with my own hands I tear up all that is old, and cast by the wayside all that hinders my climb to the top of the mountain. You keep your stumps, guarding them in the antiquities of your minds; I burn all that is dead and paralyzed with fire. You have your old-fashioned language, I have my young and strong language, and my language is immersed in its youthful and dreamy sea.When your oldness and our youth reveal their faces, what will become of your language and what you have lodged in your language? I say, your language will become nothing. I said the gas-guzzling lamp wouldn't stay on for long. I said that life does not go backwards. I said that the coffin board will not bear fruit. I say to you, what you think of as clever words are at best gaudy sterile things, clumsy tricks of scribbling and painting. I say to you: Poetry and prose are feelings and thoughts, and everything else is broken threads. Xibowei (? 1 about BC?): A famous grammarian before Abbasid, a representative of the Basra School. Abu-Eswald: The ancient Arabic tribal poet, who is said to be the author of "Origins of Arabic Grammar". Ibn-Ogheri (12981367): A grammarian in Egypt in the 14th century. i like people who go to extremes I like people who go to extremes. I like people who can go down to the sea of ​​life and go up to the mountain of life. I like people who run toward the uniqueness of things with all their ego and are constantly hesitating between two opposite things. I like a heart that is full of strength and purpose, and I like that the body does not accept assembly.A simple and unadorned soul whose essence cannot be divided. I like to burn the torch of my own personality, stir up my own spiritual characteristics, obey my emotions, leave the battlefield of multiple principles and go to a single principle, leave the mixture of multiple thoughts and go to the high sky or the bottom that can take them up to the dark clouds. To the extremists of the ocean of thought. I have dealt with those middle-of-the-roaders, weighed their aims with a scale, measured their achievements with a ruler, and found them cowards.They are afraid of truth as angels and of error as devils.They have adopted the parts of creeds and principles which are neither helpful nor harmful, and follow an easy path which leads them to a desert where there is neither right nor wrong, far from happiness and misery. Yet life is as much a summer that sings of its eagerness as a winter that boasts of the strength of its storms.Whoever moderately regulates his life so that it has neither the heat of summer nor the rigors of winter, has neither the majesty and beauty of the day nor the wonder and dreams of the night; Alive, but closer to death, he was one of those half-dead who could neither die to enjoy peace in the ground nor live to walk in the sun. Whoever compromises his religion will hesitate between the fear of punishment and the longing for heaven.And as soon as he stepped into the ranks of believers, he would walk with a stick on his back; as soon as he knelt down to pray, his thoughts would straighten up and laugh at him. Whoever wants to take a compromise attitude towards his world, he will always stay where his mother gave birth to him, he can neither retreat, so as to provide people with a good example; nor advance, so as to point out a way or virtue for people .He will always stand there stiffly, dazed, holding his breath, staring at his own shadow, listening to his own heartbeat. Whoever compromises his love can neither drink sweet cold drink nor bitter hot drink from the cup of love.He will have to rely on his stupidity to extract bits and pieces of tasteless lukewarm water to moisten his lips and tongue in the midst of weakness and fear. Whoever adopts a compromise attitude in punishing evil and promoting good can neither defeat evil nor help good.At most, he can only rely on part of his frozen feelings to maintain his lost feelings, and thus spend his life on the long beach like a shell; the shell is as hard as a stone on the outside, and sticky on the inside, without knowing life I don't know when the high tide of life will end, and I don't know when the ebb tide of life will begin. Whoever seeks the sublime halfway will never attain the sublime.Instead, he just dip-coats the surface with a lacquer that won't dry until the weather causes it to flake off. Whoever compromises in his pursuit of liberty has never been and never will be able to see any trace other than his own footprints on the mountainside.For movement, like life, does not slow down its steps so that the limbs and the paralyzed can catch up. Whoever takes a compromise attitude in his wishes, wants life to be long and noble, or short and heavy, he will find that no matter what he thinks, when this life comes, it is either long and boring or short and vulgar .If he is one of the extremists, he will make life long with the labor and accomplishment that go with it, and be strong with the truth, love, and freedom that go with it. I have heard disjointed eclectics say, "Contentment is a treasure beyond measure," and my soul loathes them and turns them away.My soul says this: "They are so content with their own weakness and insignificance. How can a monkey become a man? How can Zhu De become a giant?" I heard the monkey and Baoru say this: "The mean is the chief virtue. . "So my soul parted ways with them, and said, as he looked away from them, "Can these fellows understand the nature of things?" —They fixate only on the middle of things, don't all things have a beginning and an end? " I heard the mentally paralyzed say, "Better a bird in the hand than ten in the tree." Then my soul, weary of them, said angrily, "These fools are not worthy until they run after the ten birds." To get half a bird! Isn't striving after the birds in flight the struggle for life? And, isn't it an end in life? Even, isn't life itself? I love extremists among people. I like the one who was crucified by the eclectic.As the man hangs his head and closes his eyes, some of these people say to the other, "We're finally free of this disturbing extremist!" What they don't understand is that his soul is flying at that moment over all peoples and ages. I like the one who threw away his father's power and authority one by one, replaced silk and satin with ragged clothes, and replaced dignity with humility, and ran alone towards the enlightenment and desirable goal.Though the moderates laugh at him and marvel at him, his precise fingers are bringing together what the world reveals and what it hides. I like people who are all-in-one, who work hard, who make everything but big goals small, and everything but high ideals small. I love the martyrs who are burned, stoned, hanged, and hacked for a thought to occupy their minds or an emotion to light the torch of their hearts. I love extremists among people.I lift the woods to my lips, just to taste their blood and tears; I look through my window to the sky, just to see their faces; I listen to the howling of the storm, just to hear their roars and singing. god in the storm The Oriental is naturally inclined to the soft and comfortable appearance of life, because he hates roughness, even in practical matters.He frets about hard stuff, even the truth.Therefore, you see him dressed softly, speaking slowly, speaking peacefully, and treating people with kindness.Though you feel, behind all these veils of soft silk, there is a coarseness of morals, a roughness of thought, a rigidity of principle and purpose. Everywhere in God's kingdom you will see social critics enjoying high literary status.In the East, however, criticism is a little-known art.If there is someone out there who can tell the difference between vinegar and wine, they are still unknown.This is because criticism, whether it is literary or social, can only start from intellectual integrity, and in this integrity there is hardness, which is not the same in Orientals who are inclined to the gentleness of dreams and the fragrance of flowers. disgusting. In the East, the Sultan is God's shadow on earth.In the East, the governor is the charter of the nations.In the East, the prose writer is the shining star, and the foolish old-fashioned man who arranges the eloquent speeches and eulogy is the born poet laureate. This is not to say that the Orientals do not understand in their hearts that the sultan is an executioner, the governor is a thief, the man who writes is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the person who carries the incense pot is a liar.No, the Oriental, like all men, feels what he feels and knows what he knows, but he cannot--he is cultivated and urbane! —It is impossible to call things by their proper names, which pollutes the sense of hearing and impairs the understanding. Wherever the orientals go, they carry with them their gentleness, softness, and incense burner.Therefore, in the United States, there has never been a newspaper published that does not belong to readers and serve the people, and no play has been staged that is not a companion piece of "Macbeth" and "Hamlet".As for the actors and actresses, they were all alike—Lambs, Irving, Walker Crane, Rahil, Rosa, Sarah Barner... As for the singers at parties and theaters, they were different. One is Night Camp and Yellow Crane! This is not to say that Orientals in the United States do not distinguish between beauty and ugliness, and do not understand good and bad.Not at all!Because most of the readers of Arabic newspapers also read English newspapers; there is no one who does not go to American theaters and stadiums, even if only once a week.The hearing of the Orientals is very sharp, and there are strings in their ears that vibrate only for soft songs.Still, this tuberose softness makes them prefer soft lies to piercing truths, velvety hypocrisy to hard rectitude and difficult loyalty. There is no Oriental in America who cannot distinguish between the noble and the base in commercial disasters.But when someone comes forward and says, "It's not noble to sell your dignity," when he boldly utters such crude things, Orientals cover their ears and whisper to each other: "How rude this man is! How savage is the tone O my brother!We are God made of rose water and clay, our bones are made of the breath of Calubi, our veins are mixed with the sigh of Charubi, our skin is separated from frangipani leaves from.As for our souls, as the Arabic poets say: A gust of wind bruises his cheeks, The caress of the satin grazed his fingertips. Ah, God!We are the slenderest and weakest people in the world!But I don't understand, since God is the one who triggers the eruption of the volcano, follows the waves of the sea, walks with the storm, and lets the storm blow down only dead branches and leaves, how can we respect God? i love my country I love my country with a thousand watching eyes and a thousand listening ears. I love my motherland, she is a sick body.I love the sons and daughters of my country, they are suffering.If there were no sickness in my motherland, and no disasters in the souls of her children, then I would not continue to live in this era, and would not spend my days and nights in memories and nostalgia. I love my motherland, and my eyes are clear and bright.When love loses its clear eyes, it becomes ignorance.Ignorance in love can both hurt the lover and deceive the loved. I love the sons and daughters of my motherland, and I am sober.Sobriety in love does not clothe love poems, nor adorn odes. I love my country, I'm thinking.Thinking in love does not imagine the shackles on the loved one as soft, nor the shackles on the eyelids as eyebrows. I love my motherland, and I love the children of my motherland.There is no ecstasy in my love, but only a constant, undemanding, simple, sweet power. Yesterday, I visited a family in this city.When I walked into the living room, a portrait of a woman hanging on the wall caught my eye.People tell me it's a picture of the hostess.At that time I said in my heart: how liar is the painter who made her portrait!And what a fool was the woman who bought the portrait!I say this because the housewife's face was originally wrinkled and opaque, but the face in the painting is beautiful, soft, and well-proportioned - flawless!When I asked the hostess about the painter, she praised the painter endlessly, and praised the painter's intelligence in a different way. When I walked out of the door of this house, I said to myself: "How similar is what this painter did to most people's love for their motherland and compatriots! These people only use glory and lines and merit paint their country in the colors of their country, and refer to their fellow-men only in praise and carols." I have learned that the artist received 10,000 riyals in return for his artistic lies "Rial" is one of the basic currency units in the Arab region, which is equivalent to "yuan".remuneration.Oh what do the "patriots" who lie to themselves, to their people, to God get paid? Loving the motherland is a real human emotion.If wisdom is combined with this feeling, then this feeling becomes a noble virtue.But if propaganda and ostentation are joined to it, it becomes a vile and ugly thing, injurious both to the man who holds such sentiments and to his country. So let us love our Motherland knowing her humiliation and ruin! Let us love our fellow men when we see them soundless! Let's love our mother and that part of us knowing that our mother is sick and that part of us is weak and detached! Let us love in the light—even if in the light our faults and sins are exposed.For whoever loves in the dark is like a rat that burrows in the eternal night. I love laborers I bless the workers!He built civilization and created history. All the happiness, progress, and wealth experienced by human beings belong to the sacred hands of the laborers. I love the man who thinks diligently, and thereby creates out of the earth all kinds of vivid, beautiful, new, and beneficial images. I love the man who inherited and worked his father's garden, found an apple tree, and planted a second beside it... I love the man who throws away the dead wood to make a cradle for a child, or a banjo full of tunes. I love the man who erects statues, houses, and mansions out of stones. I love people who turn clay into grease jars or perfume bottles.I love turning cotton into shirts.A person whose fur has been turned into poppy gowns and silks and satins into colored skirts. I love the blacksmith, who swings his hammer at the anvil and sweats at the same time.I love the tailor who sews clothes with a needle and thread intertwined with bright eyes.I love the woodworker, he is not only hammering the nails, he is hammering a share of his will. I love them all.I love their fingers immersed in all the things of the earth, I love their faces that show strong perseverance, I love their brows that shine with the light of hard jewels. I love the laborer among men because he moves our days and nights.I love him because he starved and fed us.I love him because he spins and weaves and clothes men in new clothes, but his wife and children are in rags.I love him because he built a tall mansion, but he lived in a simple hut. I love his sweet smile.I love the sparkle of freedom in his eyes. I love the toiler among people because of his gentleness --- he considers himself a servant, but he is a true master, master!I love him because of his humility—he thinks he is a branch, but he is really the trunk, the trunk!I love him for his shyness--he thanked you before you paid him for his labor; you saw tears in his eyes when you praised his labour. I love the laborer among men. I love this man - he bends his back so he stands up for us; he works so hard so he can stand up for us. gibran's words Please listen, my Syrian brother!There is a word in my heart, and I would like to send it to your heart.Come, let's talk, and let our conversation be free of all formalities.Out of polite conversation comes mutual understanding, and brotherly understanding is the noblest thing that ever happens under the sun. You know as well as I do that thousands of your loved ones have died of hunger, thousands of yours and mine, are dying of hunger right now - as I say you listen! God intends, the difficulty is removed, the way is opened, and we can send money and food to them. We can send money and food to our fellow man.But our money and our food cannot meet the needs of the one or two percent of people who love life as much as you and I do! My Syrian brother, I feel, feel from the bottom of my heart, that you want to reach out, but for some common reason, you haven't. The common reason for this is: you wish you could send five hundred riyals to the disaster relief committee, but you cannot send more than five riyals because you are the head of the family and your working income does not allow You send more money than this.But you didn't send the five riyals because you were ashamed to do so, and you didn't want to publish the list with what you thought was a little money in your name, because you belonged to a wealthy and generous nation. Among the reasons that keep you from doing anything and not being able to help, there is no lack of evidence of your noble status and high goals. But listen, my brother!Let's say you find yourself standing in front of a burning house with twenty of your relatives and friends.If you can't rescue all twenty relatives and friends at this time, will you not save any of the people caught in the fire? Never!I'm sure to see you go straight into the flames, fueled by heroism, even though you know you can't save everyone.I will see you doing what your manhood and pride tell you to do.This is the attitude we should adopt in the face of disasters in our great motherland.For this disaster, we should work together to overcome it, we can only do what we can, not what we hope to do.that is it. Obligation does not force us to perform all kinds of miracles, but calls us to do everything possible. Duty does not require us to die with the dead, nor even to starve with the hungry.But duty always cries out in our ears: If you have a hundred loaves and you are not hungry, give even one loaf to the man who is dying of starvation! my brother!Don't think you can get away with it by saying: "I'm not a rich man. - rich people should take a lot out of the more money they have a working man, and a rich businessman who makes a hundred thousand dollars a year. Instead, he puts both before him, and says to them, "Let each of you give as best you can!"One ferres of the poor is equivalent to a thousand dinars of the rich.As long as he gives, the giver is blessed, whether he gives much or little. Fellers: The name of the Arabic coin, which is equivalent to "fen". Dinar: One of the basic Arabic currency units, equivalent to "yuan". Duty does not require the poor to imitate the average earner, nor the average earner to imitate the poor, any more than life asks the black pen for the will of the eagle, or the eagle for the cry of the black pen. Therefore, to you - my Syrian brothers! ——Seek your sympathy, in the name of thousands of compatriots who died in motion and with bitterness on their lips, please send to the disaster relief committee what you can afford, not what you hope.Please don't forget that the ocean is made of drops, and each drop contains the whole meaning of the ocean. conscience of the world If a disaster befalls a nation, it will reveal its strength and weakness, its bravery and laxity, its generosity and its miserliness. A great catastrophe has fallen upon the Syrians, with a violence and cruelty such as they have never encountered in their history.Now, they face the catastrophe, each with a face that reflects his deepest picture of purpose, inclination, and desire.If any of us cannot read what is written on these faces, let him know that behind the visible there is an eye from which no sight escapes its scrutiny. I believe in God, and in my belief God is the conscience of the perfect--the conscience of every perfect being who preserves in his sublime essence the essence of the natural, national, and individual achievements that have ascended to him. If any man among us is made great by great catastrophe, let him know that the conscience of the Absolute has placed on his head a crown of invisible laurel branches.If there is any one among us, the disaster makes him forget himself, and exchanges his limited selfishness for infinite altruism, let him know that the conscience of the world has painted an eternal halo around his soul. If there is such a man among us, the disaster makes him give a little of what he buys with the sweat of his forehead to those who are soaked in tears, let him know that the conscience of existence has blessed the sweating brow and Giving hands up. If there is a man among us whose catastrophe makes him spend his days and nights for those who walk in the valley of the shadow of death, let him know that the conscience of being will make his days and nights Night runs on a direct track to the throne of life. If there is a man among us who, by calamity, makes him pour into hearts the feelings of his heart and the perception of his soul, that are trampled by the perils of misery, let him know that the conscience of being has woven the evening wind and the morning dew. clothes on him. If there is a man among us whose nation's calamity fails to alarm what is dormant in his soul, and whose nation's pain seeks to revive what is dormant in his heart, let him know that his The whole life will be in deep sleep and silence.Although he felt a certain relief and peace today, one day he would regret that he had lost his chance in false peace and surface peace. I have examined and found that in every catastrophe there is an objective law which makes the strong alike the weak, the rich alike the poor, the wise alike the foolish, and let them all stand before life and death in trepidation. .If there is a man among us who wants to flee far away from disaster and the people affected by it, let him know that after the disaster is over and the mercy of God has replaced the disaster, the invisible justice is like a hand. Justice that sits in the conscience of being, as on the wrist, will take him aside, make him a stranger to his people, a stranger among strangers, a stranger to life, and all rights and interests in life Obligatory strangers. Hello, my Syrian brother! Hello, my Syrian brother! You are my brother because you are Syrian.The nation that spoke you as one word to the Eternal Ear has whispered me as another. You are my brother.The country that gave birth to you gave birth to me, the space that bore the first cry from your chest, and the first cry from inside me.You are my brother because you are my mirror.每当我看到你的面孔时，也就看到了自己，以及自己的意志与软弱，和谐与杂乱，沉睡与清醒。 你是我的兄弟，因为我刚一想到某件事情，就发现它的各种成分正在你的脑子里盘旋翻腾，刚要去做某种事情，就发现你也正走向那里；刚从某事告退，就发现你也离开了它。 你是我的兄弟，由于耶稣、摩西和穆罕默德。 你是我的兄弟，由于50个世纪的灾难。 你是我的兄弟，由于我们父辈和祖辈披戴过的枷锁。 你是我的兄弟，由于压在我们肩上的重轭。 你是我的兄弟，由于那些痛苦和泪水，以及那些世代的灾难和痛苦使之凝聚、时间的光荣和快乐使之不分离的人们。 在我们过去的坟苑和我们未来的祭坛面前，你是我的兄弟。 喂，我的叙利亚兄弟！ 昨天，浓雾笼罩了我的心扉，我曾非难你，苛资体；今天，风儿已扫去浓雾，我知道我只非难和责备自己。昨天，我认为丑恶的东西是在你的身上；今天，我发现它们是在自己的身上。昨天，我所讨厌的东西表现在你的道德品质上；今天，我已习惯地认为，它们与我的道德品质纠缠在一起。昨天，我企图从你灵魂中连根拔除的东西，今天，我发现它的根须紧紧地和我的灵魂盘绕在一起。 在生命曾赋予我们的一切和将带给我们的一切上，我们都是相同的。 在已化作我们苦难的一切和正化作我们幸福的一切上，我们都是相同的。 我们彼此相同，我们之间的区别仅仅在于：你在你的遭际面前，是安静的，沉默的，忍受的；我在我的遭际面前，却是急切地吼叫着，失望地呼喊着。 现在，我已了解了你，同时也认识了自己。我已变成这样：倘若在你身上发现了某个缺点，我就审视自己，于是我看到这缺点就在我的身上。 喂，我的叙利亚兄弟！ 你被钉上十字架，但是针在我的胸口上；那些穿透你双手和双脚的钉子，穿透了我的心扉。 明天，当一位行路者走过这肠髅地时，他将分辨不出那是你的血滴还是我的血滴。他将继续走他的路，并且这样说："哦，这里钉着一个人！"