Haiku # 731

النمش في بشرتها
قصيدةٌ سكَبَها اللهُ
نبيذاً في جسدها

To the wind they fall…
white flowers in spring,
red leaves in autumn

‏الفاجِعة في عينيّ أمي
عمرها من عمر
موت أختي

‏في عصرِ موتِ الشعر
أكتبُ لأحيا
في أُغنيةِ عُصفور


The Sacred Longing

At the core of each of us
there is a sacred longing,
an ever burning flame
that quivers with divine light,
it is the restless source
ever pulling at our heart,
turning our pain and sorrow
into its own exquisite wine,
it is the voice of God
in a quiet moment,
it is the rose opening us
to the eternity of the sky.

There is a sacred longing at the core of each of us, it’s how God taps into our hearts, uniting us all through the grace of Love.

The Nest

A small bird
pecks the ground
looking for small twigs
to make its nest.

I, sitting close by,
reading my book,
wonder if I’m not doing the same,
searching amid the words
for little twigs
to make my own nest,
the nest that will warm
my soul and heart.

Yet I know,
no matter how far and deep
I search, no matter
the twigs I find
and the worded nests I build,
no nest will truly hold my soul
and keep my heart warm
as the palms of your hands
cupping my aging face,
as your love holding me
through this long life.

This November

This November
I want to be a wild field
feeling into my bones
the surge of autumn,
surrendering and letting it all
fall down into the ground
to be cradled in darkness,
to know the meaning of long rest
and unperturbed sleep.

This November I want to go
deep down into my roots
to be acquainted again
with the nature of my being,
the stranger’s face, which is my face,
the face that I once loved
and must learn to love again.

This November I will let the summer wine
brew deep in my veins
with the warmth of its sun,
I will let my dreams
carry me over to the other plain
where spring arrives
with new wildflowers and fruits
and a renewed thirst for life
taking me to the edge of all that I am.

Haiku # 722

Autumn begins…
lying in the grass I guess
the shape of the clouds

لوجودها في حياتي
رائحة الأرض العطشى
بعد مطر الخريف

للذكريات حفيف
أنصت إليها وأنا أتأمّل
تساقط أوراق الخريف

You speak my heart better
than all their words…
moon in the sky

Looking at her hurts…
so much love
I can not speak

First days of autumn…
writing poetry
to the light of the moon

My heart melts
with infinite softness
as I look at you

Though apart
between us a thread
weaved by the moon

Autumn begins
and my heart wanders
in dreams of endless white

Summer evening
what the stars whisper
I hear in my heart

‏هذا الشعر
ضوءُ شمعةٍ بهِ أتلمَّس
تفاصيلَ وجهكِ

Haiku # 721

‏قصيدةٌ غيرُ مُنتَهية…
مرتجِفاً كورقة خريف
سأتركُ هذا العالم

‏حرُّ الصيف
لا يدفئ عظامي
التي تتوقُ اليكِ

This life is a dream…
opening our eyes
the fog dissipates
into an endless white

‏الحياةُ حلم
نفتح عينينا ليتبدد الضباب
على نورٍ لامتناهي

‏هذهِ الكلمات
قصيدةٌ صداها
يعودُ إليَّ فقط

Haiku # 719

‏سبعُ سنينٍ يا أُختي
ما زِلتُ أبكي كلما
رأَيتُكِ في حُلُمي

‏حُبُْها في قلبي
برعمٍ أبيض نضِر
مكسوٍ بحبيبات الندى

‏قصيدة الهايكو
وحدها تنصت
إلى سكونِ روحي

‏خفيفٌ كالغيم مرورَكِ
لكنَّهُ يجعَلَني أَحلُم
بما وراءَ الجبال