Free Verse # 439 (the salt of its white years)

All flowers bloom
propelled by a dream:
that one day
they will be plucked
to adorn
the curls of her hair.

~

In her heart
she was looking
for a piercing gaze
that would open her
to eternity,
that would deliver her
to the altar of God.

~

In the heart
of my darkness
I found a light,
when I listened
it uttered
the syllables of your name.

~

She lives in me as the sea –
still at its heart,
endless in its expanse
ebbing and flowing,
rushing and foaming
for all eternity.

~

From within this abyss
of space and time
I sing to her,
and this song
is my healing grace.

~

From behind I gaze
at her bare shoulders
and slender neck,
this delicate flower
with a head stooped
full of heady nectars,
and my fingers ache to dance
and my lips ache to taste,
reveling in a woman
whose light fills my heart
with the joy of poetry.

~

Her eyes
a window to a mystery
I long to unravel
day after day
night after night

~

With every poem
I am learning to touch you
in a different way,
in a new way,
but always
like a wave aching
to unfold in your heart.
Poetry—
the choreography of my verses
caressing your skin
in their longing to experience
the sanctity of your heart.

~

By the shore she stood
waiting for him,
listening to his voice
coming through the mists
and wetting her cheeks,
her fingers yearning
to caress his beard
and raise to her lips
the salt of its white years.

Haiku # 647

الشمس – دافئة لأنها تقول
…ما أقوله لك
أحبك بكل طيات روحي

~

Autumn sun and moon…
In this longing I walk,
an eternal child.

~

Birth and death…
The agony of being
a leaf in the wind

~

Abandoned playground…
The laughter of children,
leaves in the wind.

On the Road of my Life

In the middle of my life
I look back, I look forward,
and I find that nothing matters
except this wave of love
that carried me in its surge,
propelling me from shore to shore,
tearing me away from people and places
to root me in ever brighter realms
and deeper, more nourishing grounds.

Nothing matters but this love
in the here and now,
this smile and this tear,
this dash of salt
in the open wound
that mystics call longing,
that lovers call by a name or a face,
and this musical note
that for ages drifted
over wave and wind
now coming to rest
on the table, over my hand ,
caressing me with the tenderness
of the woman I have never known
but always loved.

In this moment
that is ever fleeting
nothing matters but this love,
take it or leave it
it will live through you
until you are nothing more
than a handful of dust
blowing in the wind.