Haiku # 646

Septembre…
Les hirondelles planent
au-dessus de mon enfance

~

سنونوات أيلول
أجنحتها المفتوحة
فوق طفولتي

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On the Road of my Life

In the middle of my life
I look back, I look forward,
and I find that nothing matters
except this wave of love
that carried me in its surge,
propelling me from shore to shore,
tearing me away from people and places
to root me in ever brighter realms
and deeper, more nourishing grounds.

Nothing matters but this love
in the here and now,
this smile and this tear,
this dash of salt
in the open wound
that mystics call longing,
that lovers call by a name or a face,
and this musical note
that for ages drifted
over wave and wind
now coming to rest
on the table, over my hand ,
caressing me with the tenderness
of the woman I have never known
but always loved.

In this moment
that is ever fleeting
nothing matters but this love,
take it or leave it
it will live through you
until you are nothing more
than a handful of dust
blowing in the wind.

When Sadness Comes

When sadness comes
sit with her, invite her over
to a cup of tea or coffee,
or maybe just a little wine,
resist your urge to escape from her
by drowning her in some frantic activity,
and rather hold her gently
like you would your beloved wife,
drown in her eyes
all your sorrows, fears and anxieties,
tell her what she already knows,
your insomnias and terrors
before a life devoid of affection, meaning or completion.

When sadness comes
sit with her, though she thumps
against your chest
like a wild horse being tamed,
gather up your strength and tell her
all that the harsh tides of life
have washed up inside your heart,
or just sit with her, in silence,
reading a book or listening
to a bird singing happy and unaware.

When sadness comes
smile back to her, sadly,
and offer her the dark rose
of that void pulsing in your chest,
and watch her take it, gladly,
placing it delicately
in her wildly waving hair.

When sadness comes
welcome her, that lifelong friend
loyal to a fold and intimate and tender,
and know that all she asks of you
is for you to tame her
so that one day she may begin to tell you
all the reasons for which
she is your promise of love.

Letter, August 03, 2019

Long after you were gone I still went to bed with your ghost every night, making love to nothing more than a memory, to my need for you, to all the ways in which I dreamed you and constructed you in my mind. I fashioned you out of light and poetry, out of pure passion, an unreal being that I now had to let go, to let you fly and vanish amid the turning stars. Now I let you go and deepen in this longing turning like a universe at the center of my heart.