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.

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.

Free Verse # 411 (mon poème et mon cœur)

If I touched you with my heart, would you be the poem I’ve been aching to write? – the poem that exhausts my life in a sea of mystery?

~

He touched her and her heart, weeping, was a violin that finally found its soul.

~

My poem and my heart are coextensive: the woman who touches one touches the other.

~

Mon poème et mon cœur sont coextensives: la femme qui touche l’un touchera l’autre.

~

We are all in the end unfinished stories.

~

Un jour, même après ma mort, un papillon anonyme trouvera la fleur secrète qui brule dans mon corps.

~

آخر الطرقات بين
قلبي وقلبها
وردة حمراء تذوي
وورقة خريف
هائمة في الريح

~

Photographer unknown

Clothed by his poem,
every word etched
with the ink of a fire
that burned for ages
on the altar of his heart.

~

Caressant sa peau
avec mon poème
la fleur entre ses jambes
s’en est ouverte
comme une coquille qui m’offrait
l’infini de la mer