SHABBI 165Like Abu Shabaka, Shabbi viewed himself as a prophet in his society, who,
alas, meets with the same fate as most prophets. This is revealed in much
of his poetry, especially in an interesting poem entitled "The Unknown
Prophet' written in 1930 (p. 102), which invites comparison with Abu
Shabaka's very similar work 'The Cup', both clearly showing the profound
influence of Jibran.^128 Shabbi writes:
In the morning of life I perfumed my cups, filled them with the wine of
my soul
I offered them to you, my people, but you spilled my wine and trampled
on my cup
I grieved, but I suppressed my pain and restrained my feelings.
Then I arranged the blossoms of my heart into a garland
Which I offered you, my people, but you tore my roses and trampled
them under foot.
Then you gave me a garment of sorrow to wear and crowned my head
with mountain thorns...
So the Christ-like poet/prophet, having been scorned and humiliated by his
fellow men, who accuse him of madness and of being in communion with evil
spirits and who expel him from their temple on the grounds of his being a
wicked infidel and an evil spirit himself, goes to the woods in order 'to lead a
life of poetry and sanctity', hoping to forget his people and to find happiness,
sympathy and understanding in nature. Here Shabbi paints an idyllic picture
of the poet spending his days in the woods, away from the wicked world of
men, a Pan-like figure, his hair streaming in the wind, piping away his songs,
accompanied by joyful birds. Yet Shabbi realizes too well that this can only
be a dream, as is clearly shown in his poems 'A Poet's Dreams' (p. 114) and
the even more painful 'The Limitations of Dreams' (p. 115). We must not,
however, underrate the extent of his real sufferings as a result of his not
being understood by his community.^129 A poem like 'The Lost Longings'
(p. 112), with lines like
O heart of life, how I feel a stranger in this world, suffering from my
exile
Among people who do not understand the songs of my heart or the
meaning of my sorrow
In a world bound in heavy chains, lost in the darkness of doubt and
misfortune.is almost a paraphrase of an entry in his diary dated 7/1/1930:
Now I feel I am a stranger among my own countrymen. I wonder if the day
will ever come when my dreams will be embraced by the hearts of the
people and my songs will be chanted by the awakened spirits of the youth