Tanka # 184

Falling dusk…
all the birds
returning home,
and my heart
is a bird too.

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فاجأتني

فاجأتني
فلم أكن اتوقعها؛
فاجأتني
وأخذت قلبي كالعاصفة؛
فاجأتني
وعلمت قلبي معنى
الخفقان والنبض؛
فاجأتني
هي التي لم أعرف
الا وجهها في أحلامي؛
فاجأتني
ولم أعرف أنها هي
الا بعد أن رحلت؛
فاجأتني
ثم تركتني غارقا
في عطرها وشعرها
وصوتها وبريق عينيها؛
فاجأتني
وها أنا أنتظرها
عل الانتظار
يمل يوما مني
ويريني الطريق
…إلى قلبها

Free Verse # 436 (je t’aime)

La neige,
je la sentis en dormant,
sa haleine blanche
fondant dans mes rêves
tel le parfum
de la femme inconnue
que j’aime.

~

A l’aube
je m’assois à la fenêtre,
dans l’haleine du silence
le parfum de ton souffle
embrasse mes joues,
dans la lumière qui frémit
autour des fleurs
l’auréole de ton visage
absorbe la vie
qui coule dans mes veines.
Je t’aime.

~

The red poppies
diligently hiding
in the folds of her skin;
to uncover them
I leaf through, patiently,
with the breath of poetry.

~

Without her
poetry is just words,
sunlight and wine
offer no warmth,
and life is but a shell
of salt and sand.

~

My heart
a midnight train
buzzing
with empty faces
all longing
for your face

~

Now
it begins again,
the long ache
of trying to forget her
only to find her
in another’s smile,
in another’s face.

Free Verse # 435 (I dreamed of touching her)

My photograph. Tannourine Cedar Trees Reserve, January 2019

Like freshly fallen snow,
its immaculate whiteness
keeping track
of the slightest movement
of animals, trees, and wind,
her skin holds
the traces of my words
as they drip from my pen,
as they stir in my soul.

~

Ma mémoire de toi
est comme l’eau
qui coule toujours
dans le berceau
du rêve océanique
de ta chair

~

For miles and miles
I drove through the night
to find her lying naked
by the chimney
her shimmering skin aching
for a drop of poetry

~

Her perfume,
though softer
than the moon’s light
falling through the clouds,
its billows carry me
to shores unknown
to mankind.

~

I dreamed
of touching her
silently
slowly
completely
so that my touch
would fill her
like the light
gently pours
to fill the sky at dawn

~

Your reply
to the letter
I sent you years ago –
at dawn
a bird singing
on my windowsill.