Comme dans mon cœur
le ciel vide
où passent les nuages
~
سكرة الليل
ظله المترنّح
على حائط الصباح
Comme dans mon cœur
le ciel vide
où passent les nuages
~
سكرة الليل
ظله المترنّح
على حائط الصباح
The light of the candle
does not disturb
the darkness of the night
~
ضوء الشمعة
لا يزعج
عتمة الليل
~
مرتدية تاجها الأبيض
الشجرة تقرع
جرس الربيع
~
Donning her white crown
the tree tolls
the bell of spring
My hands wander
across her skin…
with poetry for boat
two oars rowing
across the sea at night
Spring rain…
a wet world scurrying
to hide in her skirt
~
عالم طرفه
بمطر الربيع مبلول
يركض ليحتمي
بمشمش ساقيها
Poetry, a voice
far away calling me,
into the solitude
of mist and stone…
~
Locked in exile
until a word comes from you;
word after word I chronicle
my exile and imprisonment,
my hidden journey with you.
~
Let my poem be a touch
burning against your heart,
unraveling like a prayer
that sings my undoing.
~
I am lost
until I hear your voice
murmuring in the silence
under the world’s noise,
your breath then flames
like a gentle summer wind
and in my heart there is poetry.
~
Dawn…
in the light of her face
the world begins again
~
At dawn
the rain of your heartbeats
splashing on my pillow,
your light in waves
washing my life, my face.
~
His breath brushed her lips
and the words that lingered
all her life under her skin
burst into color
and flowed to strum
the shores of infinity.
Halved moon
over the bridge at dawn…
midday of life
~
Solitary path…
a world of dewdrops
vanishing with no sound
Midnight thunder…
the white of her face
flashing in my dreams
Dead at twenty…
the torn ribbons weeping
in the winter wind
~
With no words left
the rain alone speaks
the silence in my heart
Last days of summer,
in the tall, yellow grass
our love poem resting,
the wind of winter creeping
in a grasshopper’s song.
رائحة الليمون المهترىء
من على أرض الحديقة تقارع
ابتسامة الياسمين
~
On the branch of dawn
a bird listening
to the sea of silence
~
Nimbus moon…
the wind at dawn stirring
the leaves of memory
Wanderer
chasing flowers
fallen from her hair,
on the pathways of the world
traveling
carrying nothing
but a bag of poetry.
~
A woman who can grant me
the love I always longed for,
between us the silence
of the poem-sky.
~
Summer in a vineyard…
grape by grape
from her skin falling,
a wine burning velvet
in the cup of poetry.
~
Shriveled kisses
in the midst of winter…
figs clinging still
to the promise of the sky
~
Writing always follows
a sacred ritual,
her fragrance burning
along the edge of the pen.
~
Poetry is always a companionship, an intimacy between two beings.
~
Humans are doorways opening unto little ponds or great oceans, water bodies as small or as great as the deeps of our longing, the rootedness of our understanding and love.