امرأة

امرأة بلا اسم (اسمها الشعر)
امرأة بلا وجه (وجهها ضياء الفجر)
امرأة بلا عطر (عطرها الحنين)
امرأة بلا وجود (هي كل زمن وكل مكان)
امرأة بلا صوت (صوتها همس في الصلاة)
امرأة في قلبي
،تفيض من عمق أشواقه
،تغمره ولا تحتويه
،تشربه ولا ترويه
،تحرقه فتحييه
امرأة هي الحب بذاته
.والوجه الخفي للاله

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

Free Verse # 442 (whose face ever eludes me)

It is enough to gaze at her to feel a river move in the region of the heart.

~

Love dares you, in the furthermost reaches of exile, fear, solitude, and pain, to keep your heart open to love.

~

To his presence
she opens her being
and offers herself
on the altar of his love

~

Elle existe en moi comme un obscur poème.

~

A dewdrop longs
to return to the sea –
ever since my birth
was it seeking you,
this love buried
inside of me.

~

All the tears
that she hid
behind her smile
she offered,
beads rolling
into the open palms
of his hands
that she kissed fervently,
ridding her heart
of the weight that crushed it
for a thousand years.

~

I was born with eyes only to see her whose face ever eludes me.

~

The sun was never
as radiant as when
his rays caressed
the moon of her skin

~

Le soleil n’était jamais
aussi lumineux que lorsque
ses rayons caressaient
la lune de sa peau

Haiku # 667 | Tanka # 199

On the occasion of the ending year.

The years passing by…
a chasm deepening
in the cave of my solitude

~

New Year’s Eve…
in the family album
the faces gone by

~

Last night of the year…
another leaf falls
into the fire of my longing

~

At year’s end
I measure the distance
between you and me…
a thousand years
of unquenched longing

Free Verse # 441 (what is love?)

What is love?—the inwardness of a relation that, to the lovers, is greater than the earth and sky.

~

A kiss that is more
than a kiss;
a fusion of two bodies,
two souls,
two hearts,
two poetries…

~

Day and night
I journey to you,
an invisible thread
tying our hearts…

~

We are nameless, except in those moments when we are touched by love.

~

I am a poet; when I love a woman, I write to her; she lives in my soul, and becomes my poetry.

~

By your mere presence
you filled my life
with a beauty
I could not imagine,
with a light
I could not understand.

~

I sip my morning coffee
and listen to the autumn rain,
the quiet hush of her breath
wrapped around my neck
like a brown shawl,
and my fingers ache
to caress her hair,
to touch her face.

~

As I kiss her
all the wounds of the past
rise up to my mouth
and I feel them melting
between our lips

What It Means To Touch Her

My thoughts
my breath
my words
melt into her
and I touch her
silently
where she has never
been touched;
I touch her heart
I touch her soul
I light a fire in her blood;
I welcome her darkness,
I embrace her light
and I feel her in my heart
growing deeper than the earth
shining brighter than the sun;
I take her everything,
her past, present, and I future,
and I give her the gift
of my masculine heart:
I open her to God,
I open her to life,
and in that connection
I become a man
living his days
to the fullness of his heart.

Letter, October 05, 2019

Lived simply, in deep attention and presence, a life can be so full that its echo reverberates to the stillness of the stars — the garden’s dust on my shoes, a good book, a cup of aged wine, and your face, beloved, hovering around all things like a cloud, their inner light, their intimate aura. I write to you today as the sun sets over another autumn day, as the wind withers away the leaves and grass leaving nature and my thoughts bared down to their essence. Time is moving and life is trickling away, yet a deeper stillness is settling in my heart. It feels to me as though, if I lift my hand, I could almost touch your face; as though the warmth of your breath is mingled with mine. This silence is a prayer. I listen to the wind in the yellowing leaves. I write another poem penned with the ink of your love.

Haiku # 648

His words in her ears…
Seashells divulging
the secret of the sea
~
A la table du poète
devant l’encrier
songe le vieux papier
~
Ses cheveux noirs
maison aux eaux coulants
au fond de la terre
~
Matin brisé
par la brume…
Le souffle de la mer
~
A l’abri du silence
la chandelle fane
lentement la nuit
~
Peignant la nuit
le noir
de ses cheveux.
~
Notre amour
dans dix milles ans…
Etoile sur la mer
~
Eight to five job…
the bird at my window
teasing with his smile
~
Haiku pond
the shadow of a bird
passing at dusk
~
Fallen in love…
The changed color
of her eyes

Free Verse # 440 (one day)

Her eyes were silent
like a book of poems
the moon read
to the earth at dawn

~

To lover her
is to see them
in her eyes
long before
they unfold
on paper;
the paintings
as they are birthed
in the fire of her heart.

~

One day I long
to tell you that I love you
in the simplest of ways,
not with words
but with silence,
in the shiver of wind between us,
as my eyes sink into yours
and our souls merge
finding in us a single ocean
to house our dance
with infinite grace.

~

With my hand on her hip
I love to feel it,
the power of life
undulating
as it surges from her belly;
in the silence, alone,
remembering her eyes
I love to feel it,
the ocean of love
rushing from my heart.

~

As the sun sets
I am sitting here
sipping tea and waiting
for your voice
to rain down on me
from the passing clouds

~

هي تصعد في دمي كدوار البحر
كملاك يسبح في الغمام
كشعلة محترقة في خشب
ينضح بالنبيذ

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.

On the Road of my Life

In the middle of my life
I look back, I look forward,
and I find that nothing matters
except this wave of love
that carried me in its surge,
propelling me from shore to shore,
tearing me away from people and places
to root me in ever brighter realms
and deeper, more nourishing grounds.

Nothing matters but this love
in the here and now,
this smile and this tear,
this dash of salt
in the open wound
that mystics call longing,
that lovers call by a name or a face,
and this musical note
that for ages drifted
over wave and wind
now coming to rest
on the table, over my hand ,
caressing me with the tenderness
of the woman I have never known
but always loved.

In this moment
that is ever fleeting
nothing matters but this love,
take it or leave it
it will live through you
until you are nothing more
than a handful of dust
blowing in the wind.

When Sadness Comes

When sadness comes
sit with her, invite her over
to a cup of tea or coffee,
or maybe just a little wine,
resist your urge to escape from her
by drowning her in some frantic activity,
and rather hold her gently
like you would your beloved wife,
drown in her eyes
all your sorrows, fears and anxieties,
tell her what she already knows,
your insomnias and terrors
before a life devoid of affection, meaning or completion.

When sadness comes
sit with her, though she thumps
against your chest
like a wild horse being tamed,
gather up your strength and tell her
all that the harsh tides of life
have washed up inside your heart,
or just sit with her, in silence,
reading a book or listening
to a bird singing happy and unaware.

When sadness comes
smile back to her, sadly,
and offer her the dark rose
of that void pulsing in your chest,
and watch her take it, gladly,
placing it delicately
in her wildly waving hair.

When sadness comes
welcome her, that lifelong friend
loyal to a fold and intimate and tender,
and know that all she asks of you
is for you to tame her
so that one day she may begin to tell you
all the reasons for which
she is your promise of love.

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.

Letter, March 26, 2019

Choose her from a place of strength and abundance of love, because your heart does not tire from gazing into the mystery of her eyes, because she enlivens your soul and with her light fills up your life. Choose her because you want to be her anchor and safe house, because you want to cradle her desires and dreams, because you are so full in your love for her that you are able to make her overflow with love and light. Choose her because you want her with your whole heart.

Free Verse # 437 (la femme que j’aime)

أمام عينيها
صمتت أشعاري
ولم يبق من قلبي
الا شعلة ترتجف
لهمسة، للقاء

~

استودعني الشوق
رحم القصيدة
وهناك بقيت ملتحفاً
بصمت الكلمات
منتظراً الفجر
ليأتي من وجهك

~

قصيدتي خصلة
في شعرها الاسود
تارة تتمايل
كالنسيم على خدها
 تارة تنام
كالطفل على كتفها
 تارة بين عينيها
تغرف لقلبي
حياة من انفاسها

~

Not with my eyes, I see her with my heart.

~

Tired of books and of reading
my heart burns with one desire –
to gaze and gaze deeply
into the sea of her eyes

~

She is gone –
still, I’ll carry her light
deep in my heart,
I’ll remember her face
when I gaze into
the eyes of another,
I’ll feel her breath
warming my heart
on solitary nights.

She is gone
and this pain I am left with
will one day blossom
into a red rose
like the one she loves.

~

What are they good for
my books
if I don’t have your eyes
to drink from and
night after night quench
the fire in my heart?

~

كل كتبي
ما الفائدة منها ان لم استطع
ان اشرب من عينيك
لاروي العطش المحترق
في داخل قلبي

~

A la femme que j’aime…
Le regard de tes yeux
achève le poème de ma vie,
le poème que je n’écrirai jamais
mais que je vivrai avec toi.