Haiku # 685

يلفظ الكلمات كأنها
…أوراق خريف تتساقط
!الشاعر

~

Autumn returns
and my heart fills
with a nameless longing

~

La nuit descend…
dans un coin de mon cœur
s’allume une chandelle

~

Autumn evening
I light a candle
and open my book

~

Itinerant heart –
no house but the road,
no home but the wind…

~

Steeping my tea
as the moon quietly
looks through the window

Wandering Thought # 99

Things, in the end, will not be alright, and it is unrealistic to expect them to be so. Life will falter, sickness will creep in, relationships you value will be torn, friends and lovers will one day be strange as ghosts, everything will change, nothing you love will remain the same, and, in the end, sooner or later, you yourself will disappear without ever having felt like you have had enough, or that you have fulfilled all your dreams, or resolved the puzzle of life. If you can truly face this fact, deeply, without closing your heart, you will attain internal peace, and will be able to dance in the rain for a little while. You will give all you can give, and you will know the gratitude of love.

Free Verse # 450 (the way home)

The way home…
star to star I kiss
the freckles of her skin

~

Autumn approaches,
on my lips
I can already taste the wine
of a cool evening
lost in the valley
amid the shadowy hills,
a fire burning slowly
as the wind shivers
in the frail leaves
while nature prepares
her long sleep.

~

Touchant sa peau
ses doigts ont glissé
tout au long de sa mémoire
à l’endroit où l’amour
est terre natale

~

البلد هو المكان الذي نعيش فيه ؛ الوطن هو ما نحمله في قلبنا.

~

اطمأنت له
فانغرست فيه
كجذر شجرة
مشتاقة إلى باطن الأرض،
اطمأنت له
فسافرت فيه
كطائرٍ مهاجر
سماؤه لا حدود لها.
اطمأنت لحبه
فسكنت فيه
وهدأ قلبها.

~

كان بينهما شيئاً كالليل،
غير منظور وأبدى.

~

Dawn rises,
morning arrives,
on the altar of light
I break the bread
and drink the wine,
I listen to the silence
as it empties my heart,
I write a little poem
and let it fly,
and I welcome with joy
what the day will bring,
let it take the shape
of my longing, my spirit, my light.

~

Only with his words
did he touch her skin,
and only once did his verse glide
along the edges of her mind,
but his words stayed
as their bodies drifted apart,
etched and shining like stars
in the sky behind her eyes.

~

I penetrated her
long before I touched her,
I vanquished her
with unbearable tenderness,
I seduced her open
so open that when a single
breath touched her skin
she trembled and filled
with an ocean of stars.

~

When I look into her eyes
all history is erased
and nothing exists
except this moment,
a passion growing
inside this majesty
of knowing and being known
without words,
heart to heart.

~

لم المس جسدها،
ولا حتى عقلها،
بل شيئاً ما في داخلها
جعل الحب يجيء
كما الربيع من
باطن الأرض.

~

من شعرها انسدل الليل
وفاض في جسدها،
اسود مائي في بشرتها
الممتلئة من نمش النجوم،
واصابعه ريشة ترسم
شهبا وانوار وهي تمر
بين المجرات السابحة
في بحر جسدها؛
بين يديه اضحت كوناً
أوله شعر وآخره صلاة،
وما بين الشعر والصلاة
بخورٌ ونبيذٌ وشبقٌ
وسرُّ اسرارِ الحياة.

~

الغمازات أسفل ظهرها
نوتات موسيقية،
ان داعبتها على مهل،
ان قبلتها، تحركت كالكمنجة في جسدها،
تكسرت كالموج على بشرتها،
منها فاضت لتملأ كأس نبيذك
موسيقى ورذاذ بحر
وشعرٍ مبلل بعطرها.

Wandering Thought #98

All poets are fools; they love the world more than it deserves to be loved, and when it hurts them they bless it. All poets are fools; they inscribe their holy verse in a woman’s body, and turn her into mist and light. All poets are fools; they are meant to suffer, and enter a place of light. All poets are fools, they bless what hurts them, and love with a passion that rivals the sun. All poets are fools; blessed are the poets.

Haiku # 684

…أوراق الخريف
بلا أثر يذهب
كل شيء

~

Autumn begins…
my heart a yellow leaf
listening to the wind

L’automne commence…
mon cœur est une feuille jaune
à l’écoute du vent

الخريف يبدأ
قلبي ورقةٌ صفراء تنصت
الى الريح

~

ولّى نصفها
حياتي التي تغوص
في ضباب الخريف

Its half gone
my life that steeps
in autumn mist

Wandering Thought # 97

Whereas in the past greatness was identified with asceticism and virtue, an ability to resist and will, in our days the ideal has shifted towards a life of entertainment, consumption, and laisser-allez, one identified cynicism and vice. What was admired was the man who was able to raise himself above himself, to overcome and control himself, whereas now, a voice hums in his ear, telling him to suckle all he can from the bosom of this moment, for that is all he can ever hope to have.

Free Verse # 449 (listening to the silence)

With my mouth
I lean down to where
the sun kissed her skin,
and I feel the warmth
caressing my lips,
fragrant, succulent,
the sun rays turned to a wine
filled with her essence,
and I drink slowly
as I feel it in my heart,
a love too big
for the earth and sky.

~

Around us
the world turned
like a mad vortex
as we kissed,
filled with noise yet still,
covered with endless veils
yet transparent
as we kissed
and kissed
until the end of the world.

~

I heard her words, but I listened to her silence

استمعت الى كلماتها، ولكن أنصتّ الى صمتها.

~

ان أصبحت شاعراً
فذلك لكي أتمكن، يوماً ما،
من قراءة المجرات والنجوم
وهي تدور في فلك بشرتها.

~

Like a vast kiss the rain fell
as we stood in the river
clasped against one another,
gazing into the distance
as the riverflow went on
disappearing into the fog;
we kissed, then closed our eyes,
listening to the silence
making us one
with the river, the fog
and the falling rain.

Wandering Thought # 96

In a dictatorship or a totalitarian regime the election is only formal, and serves the purpose of giving popular legitimacy to the system in place without allowing any fundamental change to the policies and forces of governance. A people’s belief in the election would actually hinder any real change, and only preserve the status quo and power balance of the system. In Lebanon, any election will be ineffectual in bringing any real change, since the country is governed by an oligarchy of sects, and the actual power is concentrated not in the parliament and not in the cabinet of ministers but in around six sectarian men, with each having his own external alliances and his own internal agenda. The oligarchy is as powerful as the central government is weak and ineffectual. The current political system incubates corruption as a way to survive and to proliferate itself. The current political system recognizes no citizenship and no sovereign individuals, but only subjects who must be used as fuel for war among themselves. In Lebanon there are no left and right parties, but only a form of tribalism that calls itself a democracy. So long as people believe in the illusion and do not stand in solidarity with each other around a shared ideal, change will be impossible.

Letter, August 25, 2020

“For if you desire anything which is not in our power, you must be unfortunate,” says the philosopher Epictetus. Yet, a thousand times unfortunate for desiring you and not having you, than one time fortunate for not desiring you at all. I welcome the fate of your unrequited love, and bless it as a higher fate any other in which I have not known your love at all.

Free Verse # 448 (في سكون روحي)

ولكن يا حبيبتي
كل السنين التي أضعناها
وكل الأخطاء التي اقترفناها
لم تذهب سدىً
ما دمنا معاً، الآن،
في هذه اللحظة المقدسة
متشاركين هذا النفس
وكأس النبيذ
وضوء القمر
ككاهن يبارك الخبز والخمر
كصوفي يطوف حول الكعبة
في قلب الله.

~

A man, just by looking
into her eyes
will become a poet,
yet all the poetry in the world
will not help him
express what he feels
when he looks into her eyes.

 أصبح شاعراً
من نظرةٍ في عينيها،
ولكن كلُّ شعر العالم
لن يمكنَّه من أن يعبّر
عن ما يشعر به
عندما ينظر في عينيها.

~

لوْ كانَ للجَمالِ اسمٌ، لكانَ وجهها.

~

هذا الشِعر – رحيقُ الضَوء وهوَ يرتَدّ عَن بَشَرَتِها.

~

I loved her in the stillness of my soul.

أحببتها في سكون روحي.

~

I will write again
when I feel her move
inside my heart

Haiku # 682

كلما أمسكت قلماً لأكتب
وجدت بشرتها ترتعش
تحت اناملي

~

عينيها النديتين
يخيّل اليّ أن ندى الفجر
يتساقط منهما

~

القليل من الشعر كل يوم
لأتلمس دفء انفاسك
فيهدأ قلبي

~

في أغنية من أغاني فيروز
سمعت صوتك لأول مرة
حبيبتي

~

ليس هناك من حائط قوي كفاية ليقف أمام عذوبة صوتك

Free Verse # 447 (What does the poet do?)

What does the poet do?—He listens to the silence.

~

Sealed in a kiss
this gift of longing
I received from you
is an ever aching thorn
burning in my heart

~

His kisses on her skin
grains of incense
left to smolder
and cover her
in a sharp fragrance
of jasmine and lust,
filling her lungs
with a slow fire
burning up to her mind,
spreading through her blood,
maddening her senses
with an ever growing yearning
to be claimed by their bond.

~

A lifetime is too short
for me to say what I see
when I look in her eyes

~

What helps you live prepares you to die.

~

With poetry I long
to photograph her soul

~

With you, my unknown women
always seated next to me,
I long for an earth-shattering connection,
deeper than the sea,
wider than the sky.

~

Dressed in the form
of the woman I love
God came to me,
and our union was His prayer,
and our kiss His holy wine.

~

Drinking her lips
I slowly take in
whatever God had meant
by blessing the wine,
by giving existence
His breath of life.

Haiku # 680

Drenched in mist
my heart is a landscape
of eternal longing

~

Long after we parted
her perfume lingered
on my trembling hand

~

Moon in the window
the sound of my heart
breaking before dawn

~

Still caught in my throat
the words I dared not say
at her funeral

~

Buddhas in the snow…
their bald heads wet
with dreams of summer

~

Thawing snow…
the Buddha’s head dripping
with dreams of summer

~

The high mountain…
climbing to a world
of wind and mist

~

All the women I loved
in my memory they bear
the image of your face

~

In my secret life
I find her beauty
in everything I see

~

…اسمها
حتى شعري لا يقوى
على كتابته