Tanka # 192

On my table at night
from amid the pages of my book
a crackling sound rises;
a fireplace burning
with the ink of longing.

~

Her breath
a flower
unfolding its petals
inside the womb
of his touch

~

The fog is rising;
with dew on my clothes
I keep walking,
following the path
wherever it would go…

Haiku # 649 | Tanka# 191

Her flowering skin…
The moon unfolding
midnight stories

~

من الفسخ الموجع في قلبي
أتلمّس بأنامل مرتجفة
الضوء الذي يأتيني من وجهها

~

This poetry –
with every verse
I attempt to say
the intimate language
of her eyes.

Cette poésie –
avec chaque verset
j’essaie de le dire,
le langage intime des yeux
de la femme que j’aime.