Metaphor for humanity

A man who is in a gravely ill condition refuses to go see a doctor despite the many advises he is given. Days go on and his illness grows worse until, at last, he falls out of consciousness and an ambulance is called in to rush him to the hospital. If he survives the damage he suffered will not be reversible, and he will be forced to live on in a diminished existence.

Man, the rational animal, will not do the one rational thing that ensures his future survival, the survival of humanity. Could it be that, after all, man is irrational? Rationality — if we believe his claim, that he is rational — has been a tool at work against his survival — rationality as his greatest stupidity; its progress and advancement leading to his extinction.

Man, the animal with no control over his impulses and will, ultimately wills his own end.

Because Love Has to Be Given

What have you been doing all these years?—
Because love has to be given,
I have been writing to an imaginary lover,
Exhausting into ink the infinite longing
In my aching heart.

Why prolong and deepen your suffering?—
Because love has to be given,
And he who hasn’t felt the urge
Will not know this overpowering need,
Will not know that this urge to give
Is the primal reason of his being,
The motor of his life.

Is this not creating a schism with reality?—
That, my friend, to the sober minded
Is indeed the only possibility,
But I beg you, with whatever heart there is in you
Feel into the grandness of this vision,
Try and glance into its depth and light,
As it takes hold of you
Feel how above and beyond
All psychological and rational chatter it is;
Its reason lies in the irrationality of the heart,
And whoever does not know it will not know
How the heart grasps and lives its truth.

How can you deprive yourself of girls for the sake of love?—
Your eye immediately veered towards the denial
And this, my friend, betrays you,
Speaks your own limited but healthy state of mind,
It saddens my heart to see you so belittled,
A speck instead of the mountain and the sea
Which are open to you — if you only dare!
If your desire was not so limited
As to apprehend the desire of the flesh
But not of the soul!

No, there is deprivation here, my friend, no denial,
Here we rise only on the strength of an affirmation,
Here the dark cloud of denial will not be allowed
To tarnish the face of the beloved,
Here only the affirmation of love sways
And on the strength of this affirmation
New modes of valuation are shaped,
And a new vision of life is possible
And a higher principle of health
Is indeed acquired!

Ah, but how can I plant it in you, my friend,
The holy seed of envy
That will crack your soil and raise you
To the height of a vision
That you have barely allowed yourself to entertain?
In this age of players why not be a lover?
In this age that values most of all the pleasure of the moment,
The pleasure of the immediate,
Why not think the impossible and strive towards that
Which grows stronger even in its pain and ache?

My wish is for a thorn in your heart
And for a hammer that breaks it!
My wish is for you to rise to your own height
And learn the mastery of your impulses,
The control and sublimation of your desires,
So that, one day, and if you are lucky enough,
You may offer your whole life
On the banquet of love.

Free Verse # 411 (mon poème et mon cœur)

If I touched you with my heart, would you be the poem I’ve been aching to write? – the poem that exhausts my life in a sea of mystery?


He touched her and her heart, weeping, was a violin that finally found its soul.


My poem and my heart are coextensive: the woman who touches one touches the other.


Mon poème et mon cœur sont coextensives: la femme qui touche l’un touchera l’autre.


We are all in the end unfinished stories.


Un jour, même après ma mort, un papillon anonyme trouvera la fleur secrète qui brule dans mon corps.


آخر الطرقات بين
قلبي وقلبها
وردة حمراء تذوي
وورقة خريف
هائمة في الريح


Photographer unknown

Clothed by his poem,
every word etched
with the ink of a fire
that burned for ages
on the altar of his heart.


Caressant sa peau
avec mon poème
la fleur entre ses jambes
s’en est ouverte
comme une coquille qui m’offrait
l’infini de la mer