Haiku # 670

منسيٌ
مرَةً في السنة تتذكرني
رياح الخريف

~

مع اقتراب الموت
لم أعد أرى
الا الضوء في وجهها

~

As death approached
I could only see
the light in her face

~

الموت والحب الضائع
من هذع الحياة لم أعرف
الا مرّ طعمها

~

…إن الله شاعر
عرفته وأنا اقرأ ما كتب
في بحر عينيها

~

My mother’s cancer…
every day a new flower
blooms in her body

Self-Portrait

I

In his eyes
you can see it,
a wound reaching
deep down
into an abysmal place
that opens
to an infinite sky.

II

I was invisible
until she saw me,
the woman I erected
with words and shadows,
the woman whose eyes
are a luminescent ink,
woman, my double,
with a sly smile caressing my ache
only to ignite my longing for her –
her – an imaginary being
blessed by a suffering she sweetly calls –
poetry.

Letter, January 28, 2018

Poetry has delivered me into the intuition of her light – She is God’s divine light shining through me. I feel her and I feel into the heart of being. And the words that then arise are like the foam rising from that experience, her in me, me taken into her. That is how it feels in my heart. And so poetry whispers – light is what we are. Words are like veils lifting, leaving us in the embrace of the naked experience underneath. The more we open to the experience, the light, the more our words change and deepen. I exist as this act of deepening into this light. This, for me, is poetry. And the light is her; the radiance of the divine.

Free Verse # 418 (my poem comes nearest to her)

Her fragrance
is a knife
held to my neck,
however I move
I am gone…

~

Her silence weakened me
and I hated it until I learned
it was the only force capable
of revealing me to my bones,
shaking open my truth
on the altar of the world.

~

Let us kiss
until nothing of us remains
except the light
of the first star

~

Rain falling at dawn,
I am awake
writing shattered notes
to an unknown lover

~

I am waiting for you
on the other side of silence,
covered in dew
and holding out
the scarlet fire of my heart.

~

Aux moments silencieux
je retrouve mon destin,
fleur couleur du vent,
fraicheur de l’aube,
les yeux de mon bien-aimée
lumière du monde.

~

My poem is a painting
in which her soul is blushing;
my poem is an attempt
to touch her light
with shivering fingers
and an aching soul;
my poem comes nearest to her
when it is silent.

Free Verse # 417 (the focal point of her heart)

I am searching for you
like a jasmine flower looks
for her lost fragrance
in the nooks of the evening sky

~

To live every day
as though it were a poem
inked with the fire
of your love

~

I wandered too deep
into the breath of God;
now I am a flower
wafting on the wind,
in the dewdrop I am
the face of the sky.

~

Completely alone,
invisible to the world’s eye,
born and reborn,
born into full color
from within the eye of love.

~

Her light is the veil
that hides her
in the act of revelation;
so I am condemned
to chase her
in the luminosity of things
ever longing for her core.

~

She smiled once
and it did not matter
if darkness was
the ultimate reality;
she smiled once
and darkness was the mesh
carrying her light
to the end of space and time.

~

Long after her form
vanishes from my mind
her light will linger
in my heart

~

Skin on skin,
the soft warmth of her body
pressing against mine,
engulfing me
in the torrent of her fragrance,
bending time and space
in the focal point of her heart.

~

She is not a body
but a river drowning me
and tugging me down
and deeper down
into the ocean of eternity.

She is the fragrance of the sky.

The Touch of Your Grace

This touch
that is my beginning
and end
O tell me
of its curves and bends
and how it will twist
my spine to break
and how it will shake
my ribs apart
and how
trying to contain you
it will fail
so it will just sing you
to the sea and sky
and all that is holy
and all that is mundane
shall before
the glimpse of your face
suspire
and with a sigh puffed
before they fade
shall say the unsayable
with a word of light
and you will smile
and smiling you will set
the world in motion
the stars at rest
and everything and everything
will be in place
just by a touch
of your infinite grace.

Tanka # 88 – Haiku # 430

Shaking bones…
poems in the moonlight
catching fire

~

Dust and shadows…
a butterfly fading
in the waves of the moon

~

In the heart of the night
who comes to find me?
With a deathly kiss
the light of the moon.

~

Ladder of silk strings
in the deathly hollow…
light of the moon

~

Biting the apple
of my heart…
light of the winter moon

~

Fervent on her breast
I write my blood…
the breast of the moon

~

Stab my heart
to a beating throb
samurai moon

~

In my hot cup of tea
steeping
the leaves of the moon

~

Who comes? Who goes?
gazing at the world
with the eye of the moon

~

A passing world
busy with nothing…
thin curve of the moon

~

Moon of silence
moon of shadows
and a poppy heart
drinking
the sad smile of your light

~

Impotent men
always parading
their fucking escapades

~

Pinned by the penis
with which they fuck…
impotent at heart

Letter, January 31, 2016

Your breath emanates my poem — given what poetry is to me, do you realize the depth of that image? Oh, how your breath lives in me! But, to me, poetry is so much more than this beat pulsing in my heart; poetry is the very substance of life, the interiority of it weaving its forms and outer shells. Poetry is the essence — and you, the essence of that essence. I am dizzy feeling this intuition, contemplating it, allowing it to take and overtake me. But deeper than the intoxication with which it floods my veins this intuition and image fills me with clarity as a dawn like calmness submerges and raises me to a sky hitherto unknown. I live at the root from which the world and existence draw substance and life, from and into which everything flows and perishes and is reborn. Your breath, Beloved, emanates my poem, and doing so it annihilates me into you. What now remains of me? I do not know for you have filled me. I am now your overflow, the sheer beauty of your face spilling grace and emanating the world.

Creator of Light

To your riverbank
the sun, moon, and stars
flock to drink
and be born in light.
The nebula,
the primal dust
drank from your skin
and thus the first worlds were born,
and with them the first stars,
the possibility of life.
Color touches you
and whirls,
a Sufi gone mad,
a Sufi in love.
Color emanates
from the thickness of matter
and that emanation is you,
the inner radiance of the world
that keeps it throbbing
like a poem singing love.
Where a flame burns
its roots are struck in you,
rising from the wells
in the deeps of your heart,
burning in the grace
of your sacred oil.
You are the world’s
inexhaustible radiance,
the secret that confounds dawn,
that most solemn witness of light.
In you the world
is an infinite mandala
of light jumping into light,
light rubbing against light
as the principle that generates
the radiance of existence,
the purity of love.

Free Verse # 313 (singing the eternity of love and life)

In the gray of dawn
my heart tolls,
its chime rolling
through veils of mist,
and tolling it calls
my vanquished tears
in the breaking light
to unfurl like flowers.

~

In the sky of dawn
the poem awakens,
its wings of light
across the earth stretching,
shaking the stardust
from the drowsy eyes.

~

Silent star-flower
my touch on her skin
glowing through the night,
its burning nectar
across her hills flowing
in liquid wingbeats
of fiery wine.

~

My poem
a tree in the forest
awaiting the return
of your fire-birds
to dwell like stars
amid my branches
and sing the eternity
of love of life