Love’s most venerable error — elevating the beloved into an idol, a transmutation of one’s longing. But that only means that it is ourselves that we love through the medium of the beloved, our love returned to us, enabling us to experience the world as love’s overflow, to experience ourselves as love.
Month: November 2025
Haiku # 824
In the end, we all
become pictures on the wall –
hung there for a while
Cold winter evening…
her face, a soft candlelight
dancing in my heart
ليلةُ شتاءٍ باردة…
وجهها، ضوءُ شمعةٍ خافت
يرتجفُ في قلبي
Restless morning wind…
in the shy birdsong I feel
the incoming rain
My life, a river
carrying its quiet ache
to her ocean eyes
Haiku # 823
Let me die unknown
my heart held by the river
as it sings my song
On my face, the years
in joy and pain have carved
a single word — life
My face, the poem of the years.
Haiku # 822
Watching light soften…
as I sip my evening tea,
dusk veils the garden
Autumn in the woods –
in the stone-chapel, a flame
burning bright and warm
From its glass windows
the candle’s light shivers…
chapel in the woods
Mysterious light…
within myself I travel
to the poem’s heart
Avid to my lips,
the red flowers of her breasts…
candlelit evening
Poetry is a lifeline
I throw to my self
to go on living
Haiku # 821
Fishermen at dusk…
their distant voices rolling
on the golden waves
We’ll become stories
the wandering wind whispers
to the falling leaves
Once a year I wait
for the moon to circle back
to my garden’s pond
Wandering Thought # 395
A truth that fits all ages — most people never question the basic nature of reality as provided by their society. They take it for absolute and self-evident, and live their lives accordingly.
Our empathy depends on our ideological beliefs, therefore it is highly selective. One person may rejoice in another’s suffering, another offering sympathy, while yet another feeling absolute apathy. Our empathy is incumbent on our worldview and our place in the world.
Haiku # 820
My life, the echo
of a poem migrating
through autumn skies
I write like I live —
unseen, untouched, unheard, yet
filled with the whole sky
Who comes to read me —
birds at daybreak, wandering
through shadows of light
Haiku # 819
Here slender body –
amid the white sheets, a rose
kissing the wet dawn
Dying I become
the reverie of the sky –
Mourant je deviens
la rêverie du ciel
Poème —
la source obscure de ma vie
Poem —
the obscure source of my life
The life I dreamed of…
the white flower in her hair
turned mist and poetry
Haiku # 818
If I had to guess
the color of God would be
the blue silence at dawn
A child in the wild –
in the fields I found the poems
I’d carry all my life
Joy filling their hearts
each morning, the blue flowers
greet me with a smile
Haiku # 817
Wrapped with silken words
her skin drinks the poetry
of my drunken hear
My longing for you…
at the center of my heart
a mystical star
The nape of her neck
where poems weave their soft nests
shaded by her hair
Haiku # 816
Middle of autumn…
another summer scorches
the earth’s aching heart
Faces in the rain…
wet ink, blurred edges melting
into the damp air
Le poème m’apprend
à toucher son corps de femme
avec tout mon âme
I who live alone
confide my poems to
the wandering wind
My love for you…
a poem inscribed
in the heart of God
Wandering Thought # 394
Erotic mysticism — God becomes a wanderer inside a woman’s body and my longing to touch it: with a poem, with imagination, with soul. And if a woman’s body is more than mere flesh, but the play of forms, of darkness and light, of existence itself, and God the longing inside. The longing to touch is to be broken open inside the presence of God. God as a woman’s body.
Free Verse # 467 (the obscure poem)
Woman’s body –
the obscure poem
that fills with passion
the silence of my days
~
The gift of poetry
has given me nothing
but the humbleness to tremble
before life’s mystery
~
On the paved roads of the many
you will travel and lose yourself —
into the pathless wild you’ll go
to discover who you really are.
~
None of us were built for this —
we rise to meet our fate
by letting go of who we think we are,
and finally embracing
a life of dancing in the rain.
Haiku # 815
The days grow shorter…
autumn’s shadow covering
all the woods and ponds
Automne — dans sa peau
la brume embrasse les poèmes
aux lèvres de vin rouge
Autumn in her skin…
the fog embraces the words
I engraved with flame
كل الرسائل، كلمة
حبٌ يحتوي كل الأماكن والازمنة
فيه نضحي جسد القصيدة
The road to her heart…
a path through the woods, leading
to a sacred grove
All this ache I lay
at the altar of the Heart,
burns into poetry
Rooted in Love 