Wandering Thought # 99

Things, in the end, will not be alright, and it is unrealistic to expect them to be so. Life will falter, sickness will creep in, relationships you value will be torn, friends and lovers will one day be strange as ghosts, everything will change, nothing you love will remain the same, and, in the end, sooner or later, you yourself will disappear without ever having felt like you have had enough, or that you have fulfilled all your dreams, or resolved the puzzle of life. If you can truly face this fact, deeply, without closing your heart, you will attain internal peace, and will be able to dance in the rain for a little while. You will give all you can give, and you will know the gratitude of love.

Free Verse # 450 (the way home)

The way home…
star to star I kiss
the freckles of her skin

~

Autumn approaches,
on my lips
I can already taste the wine
of a cool evening
lost in the valley
amid the shadowy hills,
a fire burning slowly
as the wind shivers
in the frail leaves
while nature prepares
her long sleep.

~

Touchant sa peau
ses doigts ont glissé
tout au long de sa mémoire
à l’endroit où l’amour
est terre natale

~

البلد هو المكان الذي نعيش فيه ؛ الوطن هو ما نحمله في قلبنا.

~

اطمأنت له
فانغرست فيه
كجذر شجرة
مشتاقة إلى باطن الأرض،
اطمأنت له
فسافرت فيه
كطائرٍ مهاجر
سماؤه لا حدود لها.
اطمأنت لحبه
فسكنت فيه
وهدأ قلبها.

~

كان بينهما شيئاً كالليل،
غير منظور وأبدى.

~

Dawn rises,
morning arrives,
on the altar of light
I break the bread
and drink the wine,
I listen to the silence
as it empties my heart,
I write a little poem
and let it fly,
and I welcome with joy
what the day will bring,
let it take the shape
of my longing, my spirit, my light.

~

Only with his words
did he touch her skin,
and only once did his verse glide
along the edges of her mind,
but his words stayed
as their bodies drifted apart,
etched and shining like stars
in the sky behind her eyes.

~

I penetrated her
long before I touched her,
I vanquished her
with unbearable tenderness,
I seduced her open
so open that when a single
breath touched her skin
she trembled and filled
with an ocean of stars.

~

When I look into her eyes
all history is erased
and nothing exists
except this moment,
a passion growing
inside this majesty
of knowing and being known
without words,
heart to heart.

~

لم المس جسدها،
ولا حتى عقلها،
بل شيئاً ما في داخلها
جعل الحب يجيء
كما الربيع من
باطن الأرض.

~

من شعرها انسدل الليل
وفاض في جسدها،
اسود مائي في بشرتها
الممتلئة من نمش النجوم،
واصابعه ريشة ترسم
شهبا وانوار وهي تمر
بين المجرات السابحة
في بحر جسدها؛
بين يديه اضحت كوناً
أوله شعر وآخره صلاة،
وما بين الشعر والصلاة
بخورٌ ونبيذٌ وشبقٌ
وسرُّ اسرارِ الحياة.

~

الغمازات أسفل ظهرها
نوتات موسيقية،
ان داعبتها على مهل،
ان قبلتها، تحركت كالكمنجة في جسدها،
تكسرت كالموج على بشرتها،
منها فاضت لتملأ كأس نبيذك
موسيقى ورذاذ بحر
وشعرٍ مبلل بعطرها.

Wandering Thought #98

All poets are fools; they love the world more than it deserves to be loved, and when it hurts them they bless it. All poets are fools; they inscribe their holy verse in a woman’s body, and turn her into mist and light. All poets are fools; they are meant to suffer, and enter a place of light. All poets are fools, they bless what hurts them, and love with a passion that rivals the sun. All poets are fools; blessed are the poets.