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.

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.

Letter, August 03, 2019

Long after you were gone I still went to bed with your ghost every night, making love to nothing more than a memory, to my need for you, to all the ways in which I dreamed you and constructed you in my mind. I fashioned you out of light and poetry, out of pure passion, an unreal being that I now had to let go, to let you fly and vanish amid the turning stars. Now I let you go and deepen in this longing turning like a universe at the center of my heart.

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.

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

Free Verse # 415 (in the layers of poetry)

Her body is the place I come to when I long to remember, when I long to forget. Her body is the image at its fountainhead — the soul embodied.

~

The image of her hands
comes at night,
the burning wings
of a fluttering moth,
a candle’s breath
dreaming.

~

Sedimented
in the layers of poetry
the moonlight that once shun
on the shore as we kissed,
the frail scent of a basil
kissing your cheek at dawn.

~

Lovemaking is not unlike breadmaking, and when the bread rises there you have it.

~

The death
growing inside of me
shall one day blossom
and waft me like a sigh
over the sea of eternity

~

A te toucher je frissonne
comme les débuts du printemps,
comme un feu qui prend souffle
de l’intime corps de l’amour.

~

Silence descends
like a spring-shower;
in the openness I listen
to the voice of the One.

~

I’m disappearing in you again
like the tolling sound of a bell
in the fog of memories

~

Autumn night reading…
the birdsongs I follow
through the branches of words
always somehow lead
to a clearing in the forest
where I am one with you

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