Poème inachevé…
tremblant je quitterais la vie,
une feuille d’automne…
~
من عُطرِكِ عرفتُ اسمِكِ
لا أقولُهُ ولكني
أحفظَهُ في داخلي
~
From your fragrance
I knew your name
I don’t say it
but safe keep it
deep in my heart
~
في حفنة تراب
كم من دمعة وابتسامة
بعثرها الزمن؟
In a handful of dirt
how many smiles and tears
scattered by time?
أعاني من الأرق لأن نار وجهك تسكن أحلامي.
~
It is her fragrance
that sets the garden
into motion,
she walks in
and everything is alive
with light and love.
~
Unrecognized, our desires come to haunt us in the night.
~
Night does not exist in the city except as an anomaly.
~
This poetry
a trail of leaves
that I follow
deep into the forests
of my childhood,
into the deserts
and high mountains
of my longing,
reminding me of who I am
and who I want to be.
~
Wrapped up in his arms
she unwinds her day,
her breath and thoughts slowing down,
his embrace filling her
with safety and warmth,
as the world outside fades
and a single star shines
from the quietness of their belonging.
~
الحب هو وليد اللحظة، أما الصداقة فتبنى.
Love is the child of the moment, but friendship is built through time.
I write because the words open my heart to something greater than I am. I write because, being open, I am transformed through the grace of the other. I write as a form of communion, with the world, with the sacred, with love. I write as a poet; I write as a lover.
Love is a form of communion, that would not be possible without this stepping outside of our social roles, this intimate knowing and being known, this raw offering to the other, bare to the bones, this being seen in one’s soul, which fills us with harmony and light, giving us a deep sense of belonging, and giving us back to the world — as what? — as a divine fragment, as something transformed.
Rooted in Love 