Myth is not dead if we still feel in our hearts something of the magic of a year that ends and one that begins, of a cycle returning, beginning again, filled with the power of renewal. This eternal recurrence is the essence of the most ancient myths; that the world has been ordained by divinity to return again and again as an emulation of the divine, and this to eternity.
Month: December 2022
Haiku # 725
From their treetops
the crows already see
the coming year
Last day of the year…
amid the bare trees I walk
on my solitary way
My lonely path
into the new year wanders
between bare trees
This, my life,
I animate with my heart
and live as poetry…
New year
old resolutions
this life of poetry
Wandering Thought # 245
Our character and social interactions, the way we deal with ourselves and with others, are built on the darker foundations of our addictions and how we come to terms with them, whether we are able to control our desires and emotions or are controlled by them.
Haiku # 724
تمُرُّ بجانبي
أحبُسُ أنفاسي لأتَنَشقْ
رائحةَ عُطرِها
Clear winter night
the silent stars fill
my heart with wonder
In the puddle at my feet
rippling
the winter moon
Cold winter night
under the moonlight
two lovers holding hands
Wandering Thought # 244
A thinker is one who rides his solitude on lofty wings that take him up over and beyond mountains and cities, giving him eyes to see things those who dwell in society never dream of seeing. For that reason, when he speaks no one understands him, and when he comes back to society he must use the mask to be intelligible. If is both a curse and a blessing to go through the world in such a way, unseen, hidden.
The hyper sensitive will feel guilty for things they did not even do, they are always ripe for submission.
We can never be rid of the mystical impulse because science can never exhaust the mystery of life.
Without love even beauty becomes tiring and ultimately a burden.
This solitude, I cultivated it all my life so that it could, one day, be large enough to contain your presence.
Solitude, my sole companion, the only candle lighting the corners of my heart.
Poetry is the translation of the heat between our bodies, the gravity that pulls even stars from their orbit.
لا شعر يوفيها حقها فلغزها أعمق من كل شعر.
صوفيُّ القلبِ والهوى.
The Poet’s Life
A poet lives a lonely life
that he may shape birds
out of his own heart
that he sends flying
into the deepest forests
and over the highest mountains
to enliven the mist of the world
with the warmth of his song
Tanka # 215
This poetry
I gather it inside of me
like a promise,
and each time I utter it
it says your name.
Haiku # 723
Through the leafless branches
peeking as I walk
the winter moon
Rooted in Love 