Free Verse # 428 (the keeper of secrets)

My heart opened
and her name
was no longer a ghost’s
but a light
moving through me,
the waves of an ocean
pregnant
with the sun of God.

~

My poem
the keeper of secrets,
its blood
the water of her name.

~

Dangling off
the world’s edge
her feet stirring
in a pond of stars

~

No longer needing words,
one breath from your lips
breaks open the earth and the sky,
one breath from your lips
and I am the universe spinning
inside your jar of wine.

~

All the stars of the universe revolve in her body, past, present and future unfurl their knots from the flow of her hair, each sway of her hips accentuates eternity, painting, individuating this or that, the infinite multiplicity.

~

L’oiseau chante
parce que
dans son cœur réside
l’expansion du ciel

~

Mon petit cœur
joyeux comme un oiseau
habitant les arbres
dans la forêt de ses cheveux

~

La chaleur douloureuse de ton absence
à l’aube surgit dans mon cœur
et laisse un goût amer
sur les lèvres d’un jour
qui va s’enrouler sans toi

~

She let her hair down,
I know because the wind
has carried a ribbon of its fragrance
and wrapped it around my hand,
wrapped it around these words
which I now offer to you.

~

رعشة الحب
وأنا أرتشف الماء
من نور عينيك
تمرّ بجسدي وتتركني
محترقاً كقصيدةٍ
في مهبّ الريح

~

Uncanny
how her breath moves in me
with the freedom of a bird
roaming the sky;
when I listen
I too at moments
become that breath and freedom,
a sliver of the sky.

Letter, July 21, 2018

Ever since I met you I stopped writing and opened my heart more and more to the brilliance of your light. One day in a single shared breath I hope to achieve what poets long for in a thousand, thousand poems written in the deep ache of the night. One day, carried by your waves to the shore of no return, I hope that your light in my depth uncovers the secret face of love, the sun of joy that everyone, knowingly or unknowingly, long for every single breath of their lives. I stopped writing because I no longer need to. Whatever words come they rise from the source which your light like a key has unlocked in my heart.

Free Verse # 427 (the only home I know)

My poem
only gives sound
when a wind blows through,
and the sound it gives
is always a whiff
burning with her name.

~

You are not here
and I do not know your name
but it does not matter,
this love is still my captain,
it is the sea itself
and the ship carrying me,
it is this road itself
and it is the journey,
it is the softly burning fire
and the only home I know.

~

This world is a tavern,
your fragrance its wine;
this world is a sky,
your light its crowning star.

~

I long to know her heart;
I long to open her
to the eternity of the sky.

~

In a single poem
a thousand nights
of longing burn
aching for a touch
from your lips –
you, my tormentor,
you, my muse.

~

The poet’s words
bring me back to myself,
and always
inside the words
the light of her face.

~

What if the poem
is an astrolabe
attempting to measure
what cannot be measured —
the beauty of her face?

~

Walking
the distance between us,
its length a poem
lasting all night.

~

A girl I’ve never known
has her name igniting
the fire in my soul

You, Beloved

You
who lives inside of me
though I keep looking for you
in the outer world;
you
whose fire immolates my heart
without completely killing it,
threading it, instead,
thin and empty
like the rose of the sky;
you
who loved me
before I had a name,
before my parents bore me;
you
who will subsume my being
as I surrender my breath and die;
you, beloved,
crushing me with longing
and making sure
that I won’t survive
unless I become a thread
in the book of love.

Free Verse # 423 (reading my books, drinking my tea, watering my plants)

Every night
silence enters my heart
without permission
and fills me with you;
by dawn I am all soaked
in the fragrance of your skin,
the jasmine of your hair,
the longing to taste
the ripe figs of your breasts,
the moon on your lips.

~

I am a wanderer
and you are my journey;
I am a fallen leaf
and my resting place is along
the curves of your road.

~

Now
as before,
alone and naked
in the arms
of lady poetry.

~

Snow in the garden,
people walking
with a little less darkness
inside of them,
the ice shudders
on the running creek
that carries still
fallen leaves of autumn.

~

Every night
silence enters my heart
and I breathe you in,
and I breathe you out,
and I feel you inside of me
a voice of light widening
in ripples that go beyond
the last ring of stars.

~

Reading my books,
drinking my tea,
watering my plants,
the years flow by
and my poem grows
pressed against
your slender neck.

I want to touch her

I want to touch her
with the reverence of a candle
for the stillness of the night,
with the awe of a saint
uttering the name of God,
with the longing of a birdsong
for the first light of dawn.

I want to touch her
with the ache for the rain
after a long season of drought,
with the sigh of a breaking bud
anticipating the air and light,
with the joy of burning incense
as it rises to the sky.

I want to touch her
as an oak seed taking root
on the mountain high,
as a stream of thawing snow
from cliff to cliff runs,
with the red lips of a poem
writing the history of mankind.

I want to touch her
like eternity blossoms
in the present moment,
like the breath of the seasons turns
with the endless wheel of time,
I want to touch her
and for this touch to be
my breath and life.

La femme que j’aime n’existe pas

La femme que j’aime n’existe pas
et pourtant je ne peux abandonner
ma recherche pour elle ;
et ça, cette recherche,
ce pèlerinage infini
qui va comme un cercle
tournant et tournant
au milieu du cœur de l’amour –
cette brulure, ce délire,
cette espérance futile mais inépuisable –
c’est le poème –
l’offrande de mon âme
dans le feu de son autel.

Du poème je suis…

Du poème
je suis ce qui lutte
à te toucher,
cette lumière
qui approfondit sa pureté
dans son désir
à fleurir dans ta peau ;
du poème
je suis ce silence
qui écoute
ton cœur battre
dans la chair du monde,
je suis cette voix
qui s’est perdue dans le vent
il y a des siècles
et qui cherche à jamais
à se dissoudre
dans l’intime de ton souffle.

Du poème
je suis cette attente
qui déchire mon cœur
et le remplit du silence
de ta voix.

Free Verse # 416 (all this poetry)

She is silent
and yet I whisper,
like the autumn winds
I whisper
into the silence
of her sky.

I populate her absence
with the breath of the tea I sip
and the scent of autumn leaves.

~

Front sur front,
nos yeux deux mers
coulant l’une dans l’autre,
no corps, deux rives
et entre nous
la rivière de l’éternité.

~

Your absence
like a burning candle
has melted away my body;
I am a sea of frozen ache
lodged
in the waiting nook of time.

~

A girl wearing
sunset for a body;
she is the dawn
harnessing
the dew of poetry;
in the sway of her hips
the oceans move;
in the fragrance of her hair
the scent of autumn woods.

~

A flame as she dies
embraces the sky;
all this poetry
is a river
tugging me down
and deeper down
to the ocean
that is you.

~

In this world of wonder all I know is the beauty of your face.

~

If I could retain one word
and have my life turn within it
I’d choose the word “silence,”
because in it, there you are.

Free Verse # 410 (my life)

My heart at dawn
soundlessly breaking;
in the forest
a swoosh of leaves,
and the song of a bird
that spent the night
searching for its nest.

~

In a blind world
I press my poem
to the wound of the sky

~

All the poetry I wrote
and you did not read
I’ll burn and blow,
fireflies in the night.

~

The sun has set;
of one cloth are weaved
my soul and the sky’s.

~

The sun,
blood red as it sinks;
my heart a coal
of untamed desire.

~

I live alone
at the edge of dawn
and no one
save a poem and a bird
comes to knock on my door.

~

Her and me –
the two wings of a bird gliding
in the silence of dawn.

~

I think of you the way silence spreads through the bosom of the night.

~

In the wave of his longing
she slept,
a leaf folded
in the silence of the sky.

~

My life,
little absences
converging
in the great heart
of the sea.

My life,
a great absence,
a thin ink line
of fading poetry.

~

J’ai beaucoup vie dans ton ombre. Je brille de ta lumière.

~

Trying to forget her whom I never met.

~

The aura of her light
enticing me to touch her
with the ray of poetry

~

Somewhere
in a secret place of her heart
I once loved,
I once lost.

Free Verse # 408 (this music I heard)

My shadow softened
into her light,
a rose finally knowing
what it is to blossom.

~

She is not a body
but a constellation of stars
and each night, eyes closed,
with my breath I trace her,
trace her in my heart.

~

In my imagination
I work her body
the way the bee patiently builds
the intimate chambers of her honeycomb
using the fiery nectar of the flowers.

~

This music I heard
when I touched your heart
I do not want it to end

~

She is beautiful
the way dawn
caressing a rose
smiles in his white heart

~

In her touch
I want to burn and keep burning
until I am no more
than ash in the wind

~

Dans mon imagination
je travaille son corps
comme l’abeille patiemment
façonne les chambres de sa maison
avec le feu brulant des fleurs

~

In every poem I read
I search for the whiff
of her fragrance,
the secret intuition that led
the poet’s pure vision,
the hidden hand that guided
the fervent spill of his heart.

Silent Dithyramb

In the still night
my heart surrounding her
is stiller still,
a dithyramb composed
of an infinite yearning,
a longing deeper
than the womb of the sun.

My heart surrounds her
with the tranquil charm
of the silent sea at dawn,
as my touch in wave after wave
falls upon her skin,
languidly burning,
my breath wrapping her
like a dreaming cloud.

Now she sleeps,
and as her eyes close
her other eyes open,
wide awake
inside the infinite landscape
of poetry’s own heart.

Free Verse # 396 (a life of wandering)

Dawn; the silence a sea
of radiant heat,
a universe permeated
by the want of our touch.

~

Night,
the wind trembles
and in the scatter of leaves
I hear your voice,
an ancient yearning
reaching into me,
opening my soul up
to the clear obscure dance
of desire and poetry.

~

The bird on the branch
sings the end of winter
as a flower slowly
takes shape in my heart.

~

A life of wandering,
taking in the world
in still images distilled
with the lens of poetry.

~

In the shadows of the night
your breath comes to me,
page after page of a poem
burning in my chest,
its words, set free,
buzzing in my veins.

~

In the bonfire of longing
my poems to you burn,
freed from the paper
their words rise,
the wings of a deep intimacy
taking flight
and like a song of praise
covering the world.

Free Verse # 395 (my hidden journey with you)

Poetry, a voice
far away calling me,
into the solitude
of mist and stone…

~

flowering-solitude-at-virgin-hazmieh-february-2017
Flowering Solitude at Virgin Hazmieh, February 2017

Locked in exile
until a word comes from you;
word after word I chronicle
my exile and imprisonment,
my hidden journey with you.

~

Let my poem be a touch
burning against your heart,
unraveling like a prayer
that sings my undoing.

~

I am lost
until I hear your voice
murmuring in the silence
under the world’s noise,
your breath then flames
like a gentle summer wind
and in my heart there is poetry.

~

Dawn…
in the light of her face
the world begins again

~

At dawn
the rain of your heartbeats
splashing on my pillow,
your light in waves
washing my life, my face.

~

His breath brushed her lips
and the words that lingered
all her life under her skin
burst into color
and flowed to strum
the shores of infinity.

Free Verse # 391 (I’m scared of loneliness)

My cold hands shivering
on words that will not come,
and your thighs
a summer sheath calling me
to spill it all within,
a bonfire of ink and wine.

~

A full moon reigns
and I am in a strange land,
my hand
through her dark curls
sifting,
searching
for forgotten memories.

~

Whenever in my pen
no ink is there to write
I search to find it
etched to a slow burn
on the curves of your lips,
in the wellspring of your eyes.

So I call you a thieve
and kiss your hands,
break my pen and throw it,
and journey into you,
to the source of poetry.

~

I am a poet
running barefoot
in a city of broken stars
searching for the candle
burning in your window,
aching for your touch.

~

Fire’s ash
The dust of snow
It all will pass
High or low
And all the seeds
We reap and sow
Are in the moments
When in love we grow

~

The shadow of her hair
in the evening breeze,
her voice from afar
in the heart of the mist
sounding an invisible bell.

~

Her smile was the fragrance
missing from my life,
the shaft of light
that could pierce
the cloud of my soul.

~

Snug against my neck…
her perfume in the morning
a candle’s burning breath

~

Winter night…
here and there the scattered
ashes of poetry

~

My wound aches
for the sear
of the fire in her lips

~

I’m scared of loneliness, so I write to be with you.