Haiku # 671

…أمي
في ظلام هذا العالم يكفي
أن ألفظ اسمك

~

Another winter storm…
in the pot of honey
the frozen kiss of summer

~

The morning after…
on the glass of wine
the red stain of her lips

~

Slow and tender
she sips on the words
he offers to her famished lips

~

His touch kindles in her heart
a fire unknown
since time began

~

Winter twilight…
I’ll wait for you
on the bridge of stars

~

Winter dusk…
in the still air burns
the musk of her breath

~

This solitude…
I keep craving
what I cannot have

~

صقيع الصباح
بدون أذنٍ أطلّ وجهها
ليدفىء شتاء قلبي

~

Haleine du ciel…
un monde enseveli
de brume hivernale

~

الأرجيلة
مع كل نفس أرتشف
نار شفتيها

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Free Verse # 443 (if not a person, then what is she?)

Shaded in red and gold
my life is a book of poems
haunted by your specter,
you who was lost from the beginning,
you who was never mine
and will never be.

~

ان الله، عند خلقها، وجد نفسه شاعرا.

~

أما هي فابتسمت
عندما نظر اليها
كحديقة لم تزهر
منذ زمن طويل

~

بجانبنا تمرّ الحياة،
أنا وهي جالسين
على مقعدٍ في مقهى،
متقاسمين نفس نرجيلةٍ
وأطراف حديث،
نفسي يعبق برائحتها
ونفسها برائحة حنينٍ
أغرقه في كأسي،
في صحني،
في قلبي،
وأرفعه، محترقاً،
الى شفتيها.

~

All that I know about poetry I learned from gazing at her face.

~

As she sleeps
my breath travels
along her skin,
planting in her curves
the seeds of a fire
older than the stars.

~

Inhaling it deeply
his breath settles
amid her ribs
and flowers
on her skin
on her lips
in her eyes
a silent language
meant only for his eyes.

~

His breath
she yearns to feel it
filling up her lungs
seeping through her veins
rising to her head,
intoxicated, dizzy
in this connection,
this bond,
this poetry.

~

In her black hair
I dip my pen
and on the sheets
of her skin
I write my poems,
line after line,
kiss after kiss.

~

If not a person,
then what is she?
A long journey
with no place to rest,
an empty road
with flowers on its sides,
a hike into the forest
of no return.
Not a person to hold,
she is home
in the form of a fire
burning silently
in my chest.
She lives in my vision
of this world.

Haiku # 670

منسيٌ
مرَةً في السنة تتذكرني
رياح الخريف

~

مع اقتراب الموت
لم أعد أرى
الا الضوء في وجهها

~

As death approached
I could only see
the light in her face

~

الموت والحب الضائع
من هذع الحياة لم أعرف
الا مرّ طعمها

~

…إن الله شاعر
عرفته وأنا اقرأ ما كتب
في بحر عينيها

~

My mother’s cancer…
every day a new flower
blooms in her body

Free Verse # 442 (whose face ever eludes me)

It is enough to gaze at her to feel a river move in the region of the heart.

~

Love dares you, in the furthermost reaches of exile, fear, solitude, and pain, to keep your heart open to love.

~

To his presence
she opens her being
and offers herself
on the altar of his love

~

Elle existe en moi comme un obscur poème.

~

A dewdrop longs
to return to the sea –
ever since my birth
was it seeking you,
this love buried
inside of me.

~

All the tears
that she hid
behind her smile
she offered,
beads rolling
into the open palms
of his hands
that she kissed fervently,
ridding her heart
of the weight that crushed it
for a thousand years.

~

I was born with eyes only to see her whose face ever eludes me.

~

The sun was never
as radiant as when
his rays caressed
the moon of her skin

~

Le soleil n’était jamais
aussi lumineux que lorsque
ses rayons caressaient
la lune de sa peau

Haiku # 669

Winter moon, Dekwaneh, Lebanon, January 08, 2020

Winter moon
in your light I weave
my dreams of a warm summer

Haiku # 668

Hospital corridors…
her eyes the only flower
amid the white walls

~

Cold winter sky,
to the crescent moon, I say –
my heart is lonesome too

~

You who never comes,
you who are always here,
I love you with all my heart.

~

Tu me manques
toi que j’ai perdu
au début de ma vie

~

Poète…
chaque jour né
du feu de son cœur

~

Poet…
each day born
from the fire of his heart

Haibun # 6 (cancer, again)

February 2015, my sister, at 27, passed away from cancer. December 2019 my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The haiku below is a memory of mine from my first day of school. I remember crying as my mother left me to the care of the teacher, and I remember looking at her through the window while she left me there and wondering why she left me, and where she is going without me. Fitting for this situation. Only now I’m much lonelier than before. Only now it’s darker and colder around me. The warmth and care of the people I loved most is gone. And so I’m left with…

First day of school…
through the window glass
my mother looking at me