Tangled & Merging

Night falls,
her dark hair in rivulets
fills its lonesome corners;
the candle of her breath
ignites somewhere
inside the vast darkness,
casting a play of shadows
against the spinning walls;
a cloistered world,
an intimate world
of poetry and wine
and our lips
and our naked bodies
tangled and merging
somewhere deep inside.

Tanka # 193 | Haiku 652

بعد اللقاء
في منتصف الليل
أشمّها في شعري وثيابي
رائحة البخور
المحترق في فمها

~

الدخان في فمها
بخورٌ يناجي
معبد الاله

A Prayer

Like salt crystals in your hair
Breathing the vastness of the ocean,
Like snowflakes upon your cheeks
Melting to a teary, pure passion,
Like eyes of jasmine in your eyes
Bathing in scent divine all colours,
Like the moon upon your lips
Weaving a wall of light in eyes,
Like autumn’s red rivers from your palms
Streaming fire leaves in evening skies,
Like spirals of smoke from your mouth
Censing to silence a world unbound —
Your love, madness weaved within madness,
Your love, poetry’s red sun reciting from heights,
Your love, a listening eye piercing hearts to life,
Your love, an unequivocal desire to drown, to rise,
Your love, a deep forest where a single leaf falls,
Your love, a lake reflecting the deep face of heart.

Tanka # 175

كهمس الأوراق
خيال وجهها وهو يمرّ
بين حروف القصيدة،
تاركاً، في سماءها
خيوط فجرٍ أبيض كالماء

~

To write her name
in the form of a poem
and feel in it moving
all the swirling eddies
in the oceans of the world

~

Her dark hair
a rain of fire
flooded across my belly
and moving insatiably
to the rhythm of her head

Haiku # 614

L’amour…
cette courbe qui tend
vers l’infinie

~

Between me and you
a distance covered
by the shadow of poetry

~

Trempée dans ses cheveux
la lune s’attarde
à se lever

~

Do secret things to her…
leave your words stained
amid her thighs

~

More lucent still
than the fullness of the moon…
the pages of her skin

~

Plus luisants encore
que la pleine lune…
les pages de sa peau

Haiku # 613 | Tanka # 167

Dans la pluie
qui mouille mes lèvres
je goutte ton nom

~

Dans mes mains
je les acquis,
tes cheveux tombant
comme la pluie
de la voute du ciel

~

Imprégnée de rosée
sa peau de fleur respirait
le blanc de la poésie

~

Dans le jardin,
sous le ciel de l’aube,
sa peau de fleur
imprégnée de rosée
respirait la poésie.

~

Laying in the garden
at the break of dawn,
the flower of her skin
soaking in dew
breathed poetry.