Haiku # 569

Dead but not forgotten…
the torn sign blowing
in the autumn wind

~

Dawn through the curtains…
the cherry of her breast
warming my lips

~

البيت المهجور
في أرجاءه صدى
طفل ما زال يبكي

~

عطر القصيدة
بحبر النجوم
أخطّه على نهديك

Free Verse # 423 (reading my books, drinking my tea, watering my plants)

Every night
silence enters my heart
without permission
and fills me with you;
by dawn I am all soaked
in the fragrance of your skin,
the jasmine of your hair,
the longing to taste
the ripe figs of your breasts,
the moon on your lips.

~

I am a wanderer
and you are my journey;
I am a fallen leaf
and my resting place is along
the curves of your road.

~

Now
as before,
alone and naked
in the arms
of lady poetry.

~

Snow in the garden,
people walking
with a little less darkness
inside of them,
the ice shudders
on the running creek
that carries still
fallen leaves of autumn.

~

Every night
silence enters my heart
and I breathe you in,
and I breathe you out,
and I feel you inside of me
a voice of light widening
in ripples that go beyond
the last ring of stars.

~

Reading my books,
drinking my tea,
watering my plants,
the years flow by
and my poem grows
pressed against
your slender neck.

Wandering Thought # 65

I despise philosophies that are fundamentally a “reeling against” something, from atheism, to feminism, to all sorts of leftists ideologies, to ideologies born and bred on the hate of the colonialist and conqueror (not putting that hate in itself in question). These, when the time comes, are the first to betray their cause and become oppressors in their own terms.