Month: October 2018

Haiku # 602

Pierre Mhanna1 Comment

Le matin après
notre amour dans le jardin
a fleuri en fleur-baisers

~

At the library
where I dreamed of meeting her
I found only books

~

…صباح يكسوه الشتاء
أصوات الناس تعود بخجل
إلى شوارع القرية

~

Hiking today…
the hunters more numerous
than the birds

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Free Verse # 430 (poetry, poetry…)

Pierre Mhanna1 Comment

L’air
à la touche de mes lèvres
devient la pluie
qui imprègne ton corps…

~

Ever since I walked in your light I knew that no darkness could diminish me.

~

Off the curves of her lips
light, like a wave,
seems to break, frothing,
a song of sweet sensuality,
a silken shawl tenderly wrapping
the heart of the wind.

~

I touch her and she flowers
as though autumn
has been slowly
gathering its fires
of gold, brown, and red
in the sea of her skin.

~

Silence takes me down
to the roots of poetry
and I find them rising
from the sea of your heart

~

At the corner of the street
I am suddenly caught
in the fragrance of a jasmine
stirring from a hidden garden
and all I can remember
is the image of your face.

~

On the good days
as on the bad,
your presence surrounds me
like a stillness in the air.

~

Poetry, poetry…
one more shot to make
this happiness weep
from the fountain of my heart

~

Poetry matures when she is able to live again in her house of childhood joy.

~

This longing in my soul
I live it
the way the flame transpires
into the stillness of the night,
reaching ever higher
into the unfathomable
elevatudes of your soul
even as I burn
into a thinning thread
of laughing ash,
even as I burn
and am no more.

~

We touched
and the sap of ancient roots
rose into our veins

~

She took flight into him
flapping her wings
with the intuition of a bird
who knows his migratory path
home —
she took flight into him,
rooted like a cloud
ever drifting through the sky
of his soul.

~

His touch
rises through her limbs
the way a flame descends
down through the wick
burning into the blissfulness
of her core

Wandering Thought # 79

Pierre Mhanna1 Comment

We are creating for ourselves a world in which it is impossible to live; and even if life was still physically possible, it would be undesirable.

~ ~ ~

Once it is over we’ll discover it — modernity was a big lie. Modernity — an incredibly rich soil that nonetheless did not allow the growth of anything great.

~ ~ ~

Thirty six; the year I discovered the truth about myself.

Letter, October 21, 2018

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How should I describe my feelings for you?—a fire burning wildly, tearing through a blossoming garden, yet, somehow, leaving it greener and more fragrant than it was before, budding with new varieties of trees, fruits, and flowers!

The cedar tree has three to four times its height above the earth as a root spreading underneath it. I, in my visible form, what length does my root have, and what is it spreading into? Who would believe me, beloved, when I say that my root is invisible, that it does not stretch directly from my body, but rather, somehow, extends through the inwardness of my heart? Who would believe me when I say that through my heart it spreads into your earth and sky, and that the poem is the most accurate tool to measure its length and the most valuable proof for its existence? Who would believe me? Yet the ultimate truths cannot be heard or touched; they can be only felt and understood through the medium of the heart. What are you, then, you into whom my root spreads so deep, and what is the nature of the desire that propels it into you? You are the eternal moment of love; you are the openness of the heart.

Wandering Thought # 78

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You will not be a stoic unless you favor your strength of will over the passion of your heart.

~ ~ ~

Even us poets feel uncomfortable with harboring a poetic vision of the world. That has become a taboo nowadays, something irrational that requires psychotherapy. The secular, the mathematical, the economic — these are the permitted worldviews, all falling under the arch of Science. But one day it will dawn on mankind that there is something of the poetic in science too; that it, too, is a sort of mythology; that it, too, as the poetic, takes a root in unreason, but that it deceives itself precisely on this point, that is, at the point where it prides itself most.

Wandering Thought # 77

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Behind its attempts to charm you insecure love wants to make you dependent on it, it scratches its insecurity by secluding you from the world and possessing you ever more deeply, it shatters your trust in yourself that you may trust it all the more, and exclusively. Insecure love doesn’t see you for yourself and doesn’t desire to gain a deep knowledge of you, it merely sees you as a projection of its own desires and needs, fantasies. Insecure love requires a symbiotic and fusional mode of attachment, but given its unstable core, it will never achieve emotional clarity and openness, it will always desire the other as a way to hide that inside itself it has a child trembling in the dark.