Free Verse # 447 (What does the poet do?)

What does the poet do?—He listens to the silence.

~

Sealed in a kiss
this gift of longing
I received from you
is an ever aching thorn
burning in my heart

~

His kisses on her skin
grains of incense
left to smolder
and cover her
in a sharp fragrance
of jasmine and lust,
filling her lungs
with a slow fire
burning up to her mind,
spreading through her blood,
maddening her senses
with an ever growing yearning
to be claimed by their bond.

~

A lifetime is too short
for me to say what I see
when I look in her eyes

~

What helps you live prepares you to die.

~

With poetry I long
to photograph her soul

~

With you, my unknown women
always seated next to me,
I long for an earth-shattering connection,
deeper than the sea,
wider than the sky.

~

Dressed in the form
of the woman I love
God came to me,
and our union was His prayer,
and our kiss His holy wine.

~

Drinking her lips
I slowly take in
whatever God had meant
by blessing the wine,
by giving existence
His breath of life.

Free Verse # 446 (the region of my heart)

Love is the shortest distance between two hearts.

~

Dark brown
her eyes take me back
to the forest
I went into
and never came back –

~

Floating on the night air
the smell of jasmine
and orange blossoms
reminds me of her hair,
the way the light glides
along its waving curls,
the way, when I touched it,
I felt a lock open
in the region of my heart.

~

All the kisses
that clang to her skin
flowered in the moonlight
as I undressed her,
silently, slowly,
my gray beard
into her softness pressing
line after line
of poetry.

~

Touching her is a process; its name is poetry.

~

Each year runs
a little faster
since the day I saw
my first white hair

Each year runs
to find my heart
a little quieter
as autumn comes

~

For the poems to come
I close my eyes and imagine
her face

~

Unlabeled
this pulse tying
my heart and hers

Free Verse # 445 (a lonely cabin)

She hated the camera
yet when I photographed her
with poetry’s lens
she looked into my eyes
asking me to bare her
a little more, a little deeper,
to photograph her soul.

~

When I touch you
my heart is still,
like a star being reborn
into the vastness of the sky.

~

Her light is nourishment for my soul.

~

Dawn
on the still breeze
I feel a window
open between our hearts

~

A lonely cabin in a lost wood,
fire in the chimney,
empty bottles of wine,
his voice reading
as her head rises and falls
to the heave of his chest
while his arm surrounds her,
the falling night outside
hiding them
from the eyes of the world.

~

Her perfume of choice –
all that touches her skin
burns with the poetry
of his touch

Free Verse # 444 (with his touch he fuels her fire)

To love her
is to touch her heart
where a hidden world
lives silently
waiting to be known
and be filled with light

~

Je t’aime, il lui dit,
non pas avec ses mots,
mais avec sa présence,
avec son attention,
avec ses yeux.

~

With his touch
he fuels her fire,
clothing her
in the silk of kisses
and tender words,
listening to the heartbeats
pulsating in her skin,
uncovering the love
in her yearning eyes,
feeling through her
to her depth
that is wider than the sky.

~

Self-sufficient
or so I thought
until I felt her presence
and learned what it means
to be alive

~

في صدريَ ملاكٌ اسمُهُ حُبُكِ.

~

Love, my silent tormentor.

~

Not over her skin
but into her soul
his gaze glides
rushing and frothing
in seas and rivers
and reaching deep down
into an endless sky

~

He breathes out
and she aches
to breathe him in,
cradle his breath,
a fire growing
inside of her.

~

Every day
I start it with a poem,
my own way of looking
into your eyes
and telling you I love you,
you who is not here but lives
in the beatings of my heart.

~

Each dawn this ache in my chest
with your soft voice says –
‘here, I am inside of you,
wherever you go
you always carry me
in your heart’

Free Verse # 443 (if not a person, then what is she?)

Shaded in red and gold
my life is a book of poems
haunted by your specter,
you who was lost from the beginning,
you who was never mine
and will never be.

~

ان الله، عند خلقها، وجد نفسه شاعرا.

~

أما هي فابتسمت
عندما نظر اليها
كحديقة لم تزهر
منذ زمن طويل

~

بجانبنا تمرّ الحياة،
أنا وهي جالسين
على مقعدٍ في مقهى،
متقاسمين نفس نرجيلةٍ
وأطراف حديث،
نفسي يعبق برائحتها
ونفسها برائحة حنينٍ
أغرقه في كأسي،
في صحني،
في قلبي،
وأرفعه، محترقاً،
الى شفتيها.

~

All that I know about poetry I learned from gazing at her face.

~

As she sleeps
my breath travels
along her skin,
planting in her curves
the seeds of a fire
older than the stars.

~

Inhaling it deeply
his breath settles
amid her ribs
and flowers
on her skin
on her lips
in her eyes
a silent language
meant only for his eyes.

~

His breath
she yearns to feel it
filling up her lungs
seeping through her veins
rising to her head,
intoxicated, dizzy
in this connection,
this bond,
this poetry.

~

In her black hair
I dip my pen
and on the sheets
of her skin
I write my poems,
line after line,
kiss after kiss.

~

If not a person,
then what is she?
A long journey
with no place to rest,
an empty road
with flowers on its sides,
a hike into the forest
of no return.
Not a person to hold,
she is home
in the form of a fire
burning silently
in my chest.
She lives in my vision
of this world.

Free Verse # 442 (whose face ever eludes me)

It is enough to gaze at her to feel a river move in the region of the heart.

~

Love dares you, in the furthermost reaches of exile, fear, solitude, and pain, to keep your heart open to love.

~

To his presence
she opens her being
and offers herself
on the altar of his love

~

Elle existe en moi comme un obscur poème.

~

A dewdrop longs
to return to the sea –
ever since my birth
was it seeking you,
this love buried
inside of me.

~

All the tears
that she hid
behind her smile
she offered,
beads rolling
into the open palms
of his hands
that she kissed fervently,
ridding her heart
of the weight that crushed it
for a thousand years.

~

I was born with eyes only to see her whose face ever eludes me.

~

The sun was never
as radiant as when
his rays caressed
the moon of her skin

~

Le soleil n’était jamais
aussi lumineux que lorsque
ses rayons caressaient
la lune de sa peau

Free Verse # 441 (what is love?)

What is love?—the inwardness of a relation that, to the lovers, is greater than the earth and sky.

~

A kiss that is more
than a kiss;
a fusion of two bodies,
two souls,
two hearts,
two poetries…

~

Day and night
I journey to you,
an invisible thread
tying our hearts…

~

We are nameless, except in those moments when we are touched by love.

~

I am a poet; when I love a woman, I write to her; she lives in my soul, and becomes my poetry.

~

By your mere presence
you filled my life
with a beauty
I could not imagine,
with a light
I could not understand.

~

I sip my morning coffee
and listen to the autumn rain,
the quiet hush of her breath
wrapped around my neck
like a brown shawl,
and my fingers ache
to caress her hair,
to touch her face.

~

As I kiss her
all the wounds of the past
rise up to my mouth
and I feel them melting
between our lips

Free Verse # 440 (one day)

Her eyes were silent
like a book of poems
the moon read
to the earth at dawn

~

To lover her
is to see them
in her eyes
long before
they unfold
on paper;
the paintings
as they are birthed
in the fire of her heart.

~

One day I long
to tell you that I love you
in the simplest of ways,
not with words
but with silence,
in the shiver of wind between us,
as my eyes sink into yours
and our souls merge
finding in us a single ocean
to house our dance
with infinite grace.

~

With my hand on her hip
I love to feel it,
the power of life
undulating
as it surges from her belly;
in the silence, alone,
remembering her eyes
I love to feel it,
the ocean of love
rushing from my heart.

~

As the sun sets
I am sitting here
sipping tea and waiting
for your voice
to rain down on me
from the passing clouds

~

هي تصعد في دمي كدوار البحر
كملاك يسبح في الغمام
كشعلة محترقة في خشب
ينضح بالنبيذ

Free Verse # 439 (the salt of its white years)

All flowers bloom
propelled by a dream:
that one day
they will be plucked
to adorn
the curls of her hair.

~

In her heart
she was looking
for a piercing gaze
that would open her
to eternity,
that would deliver her
to the altar of God.

~

In the heart
of my darkness
I found a light,
when I listened
it uttered
the syllables of your name.

~

She lives in me as the sea –
still at its heart,
endless in its expanse
ebbing and flowing,
rushing and foaming
for all eternity.

~

From within this abyss
of space and time
I sing to her,
and this song
is my healing grace.

~

From behind I gaze
at her bare shoulders
and slender neck,
this delicate flower
with a head stooped
full of heady nectars,
and my fingers ache to dance
and my lips ache to taste,
reveling in a woman
whose light fills my heart
with the joy of poetry.

~

Her eyes
a window to a mystery
I long to unravel
day after day
night after night

~

With every poem
I am learning to touch you
in a different way,
in a new way,
but always
like a wave aching
to unfold in your heart.
Poetry—
the choreography of my verses
caressing your skin
in their longing to experience
the sanctity of your heart.

~

By the shore she stood
waiting for him,
listening to his voice
coming through the mists
and wetting her cheeks,
her fingers yearning
to caress his beard
and raise to her lips
the salt of its white years.

Free Verse # 438 (La poésie existe afin que l’homme sache comment caresser la femme)

The rain at dawn
sharpens your absence,
I wake up with my body
aching for your touch.

~

My ideal woman,
she’d wear summer for a dress,
with its jasmine flowers
she’d braid her hair;
her skin would smell
of its sun kissed apricot,
from her lips would flow
the velvet of its wine.

~

I looked into her eyes
searching for love,
but her heart was closed
and love was gone,
and I was out alone again
walking the endless waste
of this world we call modernity.

~

After all this time
I find that in my heart
I still love her,
achingly as if
in the shadow of absence
her love only grew,
tremendously as if
my lips against hers
were always pressed
though I only breathed her in
through the mouth of silence.

~

You feel her beauty swell in your heart not because of your attractiveness or looks, but because of what you feel when you look into her eyes.

~

This life of suffering out of loving her and not being able to have her is infinitely preferable to a life in which I did not know her at all.

~

Au moment où mon regard s’est plongé dans ses yeux je suis devenu un homme qui vit sur les mers.

The moment I gazed into the deeps of her eyes I became a man living his life sailing the high seas.

~

A man in love doesn’t measure the beauty of his woman by the shape of her body but by the depth he feels when he looks into her eyes.

~

La poésie existe afin que l’homme sache comment caresser la femme et sentir la blancheur de l’amour palpiter dans son âme.

Poetry exists so that a man may know how to caress a woman and feel the white wings of love flapping in her soul.

~

جمالها وهج
يكتنفه الغموض؛
الضوء في عينيها
بحر لا ينتهي.

Her beauty is a glow
shrouded in mystery;
the light in her eyes
is an endless sea.

~

A seafarer
sailing the sea of her eyes;
I sail in endless waters
never reaching a port,
never seeing a shore.
A seafarer
I sail the sea of her eyes,
and that sea is my home.

مسافر انا
في بحر عينيها،
بحر لا مرفأ فيه
ولا شاطىء؛
مسافر انا
في بحر عينها،
وبين امواج روحها
أجد سكناي ومنزلي.

Free Verse # 437 (la femme que j’aime)

أمام عينيها
صمتت أشعاري
ولم يبق من قلبي
الا شعلة ترتجف
لهمسة، للقاء

~

استودعني الشوق
رحم القصيدة
وهناك بقيت ملتحفاً
بصمت الكلمات
منتظراً الفجر
ليأتي من وجهك

~

قصيدتي خصلة
في شعرها الاسود
تارة تتمايل
كالنسيم على خدها
 تارة تنام
كالطفل على كتفها
 تارة بين عينيها
تغرف لقلبي
حياة من انفاسها

~

Not with my eyes, I see her with my heart.

~

Tired of books and of reading
my heart burns with one desire –
to gaze and gaze deeply
into the sea of her eyes

~

She is gone –
still, I’ll carry her light
deep in my heart,
I’ll remember her face
when I gaze into
the eyes of another,
I’ll feel her breath
warming my heart
on solitary nights.

She is gone
and this pain I am left with
will one day blossom
into a red rose
like the one she loves.

~

What are they good for
my books
if I don’t have your eyes
to drink from and
night after night quench
the fire in my heart?

~

كل كتبي
ما الفائدة منها ان لم استطع
ان اشرب من عينيك
لاروي العطش المحترق
في داخل قلبي

~

A la femme que j’aime…
Le regard de tes yeux
achève le poème de ma vie,
le poème que je n’écrirai jamais
mais que je vivrai avec toi.

Thank you for the pain, Love

This pain you gave me
as you left I’ll take
as a parting gift,
I’ll cherish it, nurture it,
and grow it in my heart
until I am strong again,
stronger than I was,
until my depth as a man
through this pain is expanded,
until I can, at last,
give the pain of losing you
to the world again
as a gift of love,
becoming a better man
than the one I was.
In this way I remain faithful
to the love we shared,
in this way I remain faithful
to your heart of unbound love,
in this way I release you from me
and give you back to the world, as love…

Free Verse # 436 (je t’aime)

La neige,
je la sentis en dormant,
sa haleine blanche
fondant dans mes rêves
tel le parfum
de la femme inconnue
que j’aime.

~

A l’aube
je m’assois à la fenêtre,
dans l’haleine du silence
le parfum de ton souffle
embrasse mes joues,
dans la lumière qui frémit
autour des fleurs
l’auréole de ton visage
absorbe la vie
qui coule dans mes veines.
Je t’aime.

~

The red poppies
diligently hiding
in the folds of her skin;
to uncover them
I leaf through, patiently,
with the breath of poetry.

~

Without her
poetry is just words,
sunlight and wine
offer no warmth,
and life is but a shell
of salt and sand.

~

My heart
a midnight train
buzzing
with empty faces
all longing
for your face

~

Now
it begins again,
the long ache
of trying to forget her
only to find her
in another’s smile,
in another’s face.

Free Verse # 435 (I dreamed of touching her)

My photograph. Tannourine Cedar Trees Reserve, January 2019

Like freshly fallen snow,
its immaculate whiteness
keeping track
of the slightest movement
of animals, trees, and wind,
her skin holds
the traces of my words
as they drip from my pen,
as they stir in my soul.

~

Ma mémoire de toi
est comme l’eau
qui coule toujours
dans le berceau
du rêve océanique
de ta chair

~

For miles and miles
I drove through the night
to find her lying naked
by the chimney
her shimmering skin aching
for a drop of poetry

~

Her perfume,
though softer
than the moon’s light
falling through the clouds,
its billows carry me
to shores unknown
to mankind.

~

I dreamed
of touching her
silently
slowly
completely
so that my touch
would fill her
like the light
gently pours
to fill the sky at dawn

~

Your reply
to the letter
I sent you years ago –
at dawn
a bird singing
on my windowsill.

Free Verse # 434 (she is all the lights)

In your touch
I make transactions
with beauty,
selling each moment
for a veil of your light,
feeling the white
of your perception
shine from my soul.

~

My poetry,
its endless brushstrokes
paint the features
of my face;
look at it,
it has no eyes
but only a silence
with which to gaze
upon the world.

~

When I write
I imagine my fingers
touching her face
the way the moth hovers
around the candle-light,
I feel my hands
dipped in her skin
like oars rowing
in a starlit sea of poetry.

~

Looking at her
the poem tries
with burnings fingers
to describe her beauty,
but then it falls down,
speechless.

~

She is all the lights the city needs.

~

My heart
I feel it connected to yours
by a hidden string,
like night to the day,
like the sky to the earth
and to the rolling sea of stars.

Free Verse # 433 (this moment is but a dream, vanishing)

In my love for you
the profanity of my spirit
once more
touched the hem
of God’s soul

~

This moment
is but a dream,
vanishing;
in the mirror
of its smoke
I behold your face,
ever dancing in the wind,
ever warm with grace.

~

Smoke and mirrors,
in this world
I only care to polish
the image of your face.

~

You wander through me
unchanged for eternities
like the ray of light
that shined from God’s heart
on the dawn
of the very first day

~

The music of your voice
comes back at dawn;
like a dewdrop on the leaf
I sit down and listen.

~

Having her here
sleeping next to me,
in the rhythm of her breath
a window opening
onto an endless sea.

~

Beloved, I only have eyes to see you through the window of my heart.

~

My heart burns for you
with the passion of petals
in a tight bud, unfurling,
with the desire of a seed
in the dark soil
feeling all around it
the heat of spring.

~

I am thinking of your voice
and the way it drifts at dawn,
a ray of warm sunlight
through the dewy cover of fog.

I am thinking of your breath
and the way it fills the sky,
starlight from distant galaxies
like dancing snowflakes falling down.

~

Looking through
the dictionary of the winds
for words to describe her,
I discovered the scent
of the jasmine flower
under the summer moon,
little fires of starlight
wandering the tilting sky
early before the dawn,
the words poets uttered
from a wounded heart,
the heated breaths
exchanged between
the merging lips lovers,
the ineffable presence of things
as they enter
the silence of God.

Free Verse # 432 (my poem is a conversation with you)

في لفحة النسيم على وجهي
،أشعر بدفء أنفاسها
،هي التي لم أرها يوماً
هي التي أبحث عن وجهها
،في وجوه النساء
هي التي تفيض من نبضي
صمتاً جارحا
.أعمق من صمت السماء

~

Even in the middle of the crowd
we are always alone
when our eyes meet,
exchanging wordless messages
that rush like waves
into the bottom of our souls.

~

The gray clouds hung low
over the face of the earth;
touching her skin
with the silk of my breath
a moan escaped her mouth;
soon, the rain began to fall
and the rain did not stop;
our breaths merged
and our bodies, soaking in the rain,
caught fire, and burned,
consumed in each other
on the altar of sacred poetry.

~

My poems –
a hive of bees
working in the fields
of the invisible,
gathering silently
the nectar of its flowers,
fermenting
in the vessel of the Word
the hues of its sacred light,
building up slowly
a dawn burning with honey.

~

One touch from you
is enough
to annihilate me
and consume my life;
one breath is enough
to open up my heart
to the vastness of the sky.

Your existence elevates me,
lifts me out of the cycles
of pleasure, change, and transience,
rooting me in the stillness
of eternal love.

~

My poem
is a conversation with you
who inhabits a world of light
unseen by my eyes.

~

Caché à mes yeux,
je te vois avec l’œil de mon cœur,
et ton visage qui est
partout autour de moi
me réchauffe tendrement
avec la douceur et la passion
du vin éternel,
du vin bu
à la table de Dieu.

Free Verse # 431 (a literature of sacred desire)

The moon at dawn,
to look at it I remember
the image of her face,
traveling from age to age
and now coming to wake
in the stillness of my heart.

~

All that ink
flowing along her curves
in rivers,
and I, the only one
able to read its flow;
but reading
is an act of writing,
and as I read
the words catch fire
and burn into her skin,
a literature of sacred desire
bursting
with the flame of poetry.

~

It’s enough
to touch her with my mind
for the cup
from my heart
to overflow

~

Dusk settles;
my breath,
like the silent fall of dew
infiltrates her skin,
gathers at her core.

Between us,
an ineffable dance
of shadow and light,
a poetry greater
than this finite world.

~

From her face
the knowledge of light
came to me,
came to alight like a bird
on the bough of my heart,
inside to make
its burning nest,
weep through my skin
and into the corners of the world
a song of joy and harmony.

Free Verse # 430 (poetry, poetry…)

L’air
à la touche de mes lèvres
devient la pluie
qui imprègne ton corps…

~

Ever since I walked in your light I knew that no darkness could diminish me.

~

Off the curves of her lips
light, like a wave,
seems to break, frothing,
a song of sweet sensuality,
a silken shawl tenderly wrapping
the heart of the wind.

~

I touch her and she flowers
as though autumn
has been slowly
gathering its fires
of gold, brown, and red
in the sea of her skin.

~

Silence takes me down
to the roots of poetry
and I find them rising
from the sea of your heart

~

At the corner of the street
I am suddenly caught
in the fragrance of a jasmine
stirring from a hidden garden
and all I can remember
is the image of your face.

~

On the good days
as on the bad,
your presence surrounds me
like a stillness in the air.

~

Poetry, poetry…
one more shot to make
this happiness weep
from the fountain of my heart

~

Poetry matures when she is able to live again in her house of childhood joy.

~

This longing in my soul
I live it
the way the flame transpires
into the stillness of the night,
reaching ever higher
into the unfathomable
elevatudes of your soul
even as I burn
into a thinning thread
of laughing ash,
even as I burn
and am no more.

~

We touched
and the sap of ancient roots
rose into our veins

~

She took flight into him
flapping her wings
with the intuition of a bird
who knows his migratory path
home —
she took flight into him,
rooted like a cloud
ever drifting through the sky
of his soul.

~

His touch
rises through her limbs
the way a flame descends
down through the wick
burning into the blissfulness
of her core