كخسارة مباراة شطرنج
حُبَّها أتى فجأةً
دون أن أراه
~
Spring morning
greeted by the scent
of orange blossoms
كخسارة مباراة شطرنج
حُبَّها أتى فجأةً
دون أن أراه
~
Spring morning
greeted by the scent
of orange blossoms
بنيتُ لكِ في قلبي
كنيسةً صغيرة
ملأى باسمِكِ
~
In my heart
I built a small chapel
filled with your name
~
Her deep eyes
a perfect day
to fall in love
~
ما أحبَّ الرجلُ امرأةً إلا ولمسَ الشعرُ قلبهُ.
~
أنظرُ في عينيها
ثمَ أقبلها واحدةً واحدة
أزهارُ بشَرتِها
As I hold my pen
her skin under my fingers
stretches into a landscape,
each word I write
spins a little vortex,
a turning Sufi, a small flower,
all spreading across her skin,
spreading like a fire,
dripping into her soul
and coursing deep down,
filling her with more love
than she can understand,
with unbearable gentleness
opening her wide,
opening her to God,
opening her to the sky.
One by one I kiss
the flowers of her skin,
then look into her eyes.