Free Verse # 456 (this solitude)

my one faithful love,
the only one who keeps
watch over me
and waits
and waits
to touch my face
and fill my heart.


Not just the earth,
touched by autumn’s rain
even this longing
exudes poetry


The moon’s light dissolves
all memories
of past and future,
and ties everything
in a silent knot
that whispers: “now.”
Nothing exists
outside this moment,
nothing lives
outside your heart.


Je t’aime, il lui a dit,
chaque jour au lever du matin,
chaque jour au coucher du soleil.

أحبكِ، قالها لها،
كل يوم عند طلوع الضوء،
كل يوم عند مغيب الشمس.


In the end, logic is the death of man; it’s where the poetry in his soul goes to die.


For a poet, it is enough, in this world, to have a little corner in which to sit with a book, a desk and some paper, to read and write to the light of a candle, lit by the impassioned flame of longing.


There are many who preach hate in the name of love.

كثيرون هم من يبشرون بالحقد باسم الحب.


I value a heart by how much longing it is capable of holding.


My life – I measure it in moments of poetry.


This solitude – without it I would not recognize my face.

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