Kissing Her Neck

Like fresh morning dew
my kisses sink into her neck,
from her chin down
to the hollow above her chest,
going around to her collarbones,
then to her nape at the back
as I lift her dark hair,
falling slowly to the expanse
between her shoulder blades…

…my kisses circle her neck
like a Sufi turns
ecstatic and feverish,
lost in prayer
as with each turn
he falls deeper
lost in God.

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Free Verse # 461 (one moment with you)

أجلُسُ وحيداً معكِ ولو كانَ بيننا ألفُ شخضٍ وشخص.

~

You pull me up when the whole world is pulling me down, and that is enough.

~

Rien ne réchauffe sans amour.

~

نحنُ دائماً مُغَلَفين بِأنفُسِنا.

~

قليل من الشعر ليروي عطش الليل.

~

Everyday
life flows a little more
into my veins
at the thought of touching you…
this life becomes fire
and has the name of poetry

~

In my dreams I wander
solitary as the moon,
only her eyes call me on and on
to hidden horizons,
to poetry, to wine,
to madness,
to a love so great
it tears open
the whole sky.

~

Though I come
with a laden heart,
one moment with you
empties me
of all my burdens.

~

Light touching her skin
A halo of poetry

~

When I touch you
even in thought
I am relieved
from that dreadful weight
pressing on my chest

~

Stripped bare
by this music;
a leaf
left trembling
in the passing wind.

~

Between his hands
her body swayed…
a violin aching
to weep
the sweetest music

~

The kiss he plucked from her mouth
a ripe fruit, red and bitter sweet,
filled with so much longing that
a tremor traveled between them
shaking the old fault lines and roots
and shaping them anew,
forged along the outlines
of their merging bodies.

Walking To You

Walking to you
I lose count of the distance
as miles laps
into endless miles,
I lose count of the time
as days swiftly turn
to months, to years,
everything becomes
background and echo
and only you remain,
you, love, the focal point
around which all time and space
spin and converge,
you, the expansion in my heart,
giving my life
freedom and meaning,
filling each moment
with peace and ecstasy,
teaching me to live this poetry…

Pierre Mhanna

Free Verse # 460 (forgotten by the years)

Like the sun,
like a candle,
like fog,
like the waves,
like birdsongs,
like silence,
your face
as I hold it
inside my heart.

~

This poetry,
I labor to make beauty
hoping that one day
it will touch your eyes.

~

You and me
in a cabin
by a forest lake,
counting the leaves
as they fall,
forgotten by the years.

~

Perhaps I knew you
in another life,
for when I think of you
my spirit moves like water
and sunlight becomes
the face of my soul.

~

In my memory
I run through the fields
of my childhood
with the summer sun
warm on my face

~

Winter day…
in the distance
I hear your voice
rolling with the clouds

Free Verse # 459 (كل ضجيج العالم)

كل ضجيج العالم يتلاشى عندما أسمع صوتك.

~

هي قصيدةٌ مكتوبةٌ بلغة
أرغبُ أن أُمضي حياتي
وأنا أُترجمها

~

في هذا العالم المجنون
يبقى حُبُنا ملاذُنا الآمِن،
فيهِ نكون نوعاً آخَرَ من الجنون،
فيهِ نكون أنا أنا وأنتِ أنتِ.

~

أكتبُ
كأنّ قصيدتي تتلمَّس
دفءَ بَشَرَتِها

~

قُبلتَها
كلما مرّ لساني على شفتي،
أحسستُ بطعمها،
نبيذٌ أحمر، نارٌ، شعر،
كأن روحي قد ثملت
وهي تشرب من روحها.

Free Verse # 458 (watching her sleep)

This warmth between us
the knitted verse of poetry

~

Life happens while you wait
for a lover to ease the knot of fate

~

What am I? — Just a shadow passing in the rain.

~

If someone asked me
what proof have I got
that I really lived,
I’d only have my poetry.

~

Wounded by this longing,
I write poetry.

~

Water washes the skin but rain cleanses the soul.

~

Barefoot
she walks in my dreams
spilling moonlight
from her dark hair,
her breath
a candle whispering
the softest intimacy.

~

Watching her sleep,
to the candle’s light
he weaves his breath
and covers her gently.

Another Way of Being

As though life
is a fog,
a fading dream,
vanishing as we reach
to touch it,
images shivering in the water,
flowing away, already gone
when barely seen.

We live in the afterglow
of things that were,
eclipsed before being
fully embodied,
things filled with decay
even as they flourished,
things that are always leaving
only to lead us on and on
to a nowhere that exists
only in our hearts.

The heaviest love
is weightless and impotent.
The strongest attachments
are thin as the wind.

In this vast, endless
openness,
I pray, teach me
surrender,
let me become love. The only journey is the one within,
all else is illusory.

Haiku # 711

Cruising into old age,
reading books
and writing poetry.

~

With one foot in the grave
she sits smiling at me…
my mother

~

هذا المطر
في عتمةِ الليل عاشِقَين
يُقَبِلان بَعضَهُما

~

This rain…
in the dark night two lovers
passionately kissing

~

كقمرٍ في الماء
ترتَجِف
وأنا أُقَبِلُها

Love Desired

The passing years
knitted our lives
closer and closer
until we became
woven together
into a single fabric,
our beings emitting
a deeply harmonious music
as they merged over and over
with ever increasing intensity,
enlarging our love,
this world between us,
this infinitely warm nest,
to fill the whole sky,
mirroring each other
ever so truthfully,
ever so nakedly,
in the still water of our silence,
our shared and beating heart.

عن الشعر والحب

أقرأ قصائدي القديمة
لأجد فتات النساء
اللواتي أحببتهنّ يوماً
.واللواتي اختفين في الحقول
قصائدي كلها قصيدة واحدة
مرسومة كالوشم
،على بشرة المرأة الوحيدة
.والتي تختصر في كيانها كل النساء
قصيدتي انشودة مطر
،في حقل جسدها
قمر عالق
.في شعرها الأسود

Free Verse # 456 (this solitude)

Poetry,
my one faithful love,
the only one who keeps
watch over me
and waits
and waits
to touch my face
and fill my heart.

~

Not just the earth,
touched by autumn’s rain
even this longing
exudes poetry

~

The moon’s light dissolves
all memories
of past and future,
and ties everything
in a silent knot
that whispers: “now.”
Nothing exists
outside this moment,
nothing lives
outside your heart.

~

Je t’aime, il lui a dit,
chaque jour au lever du matin,
chaque jour au coucher du soleil.

أحبكِ، قالها لها،
كل يوم عند طلوع الضوء،
كل يوم عند مغيب الشمس.

~

In the end, logic is the death of man; it’s where the poetry in his soul goes to die.

~

For a poet, it is enough, in this world, to have a little corner in which to sit with a book, a desk and some paper, to read and write to the light of a candle, lit by the impassioned flame of longing.

~

There are many who preach hate in the name of love.

كثيرون هم من يبشرون بالحقد باسم الحب.

~

I value a heart by how much longing it is capable of holding.

~

My life – I measure it in moments of poetry.

~

This solitude – without it I would not recognize my face.

Haiku # 701

Autumn
one leaf then another
falls in the wind

الخريف
ورقة ثم أخرى
تقع في الريح

~

September
through the woods I take
the long way home

~

September
you’ll find my heart buried
in a pile of yellow leaves

~

I breathe her in
as though her skin
is the light of the moon

~

Autumn evening
my thoughts drifting
with the passing clouds

~

Deep in the forest
I find my heart still
like the air and leaves

~

Forever is just a word
between us
and the moon

~

الخريفُ يبدأ
برائحةِ الأرض أُعَطَّر
زوايا روحي

~

هو يحب النساء اللواتي
يعرفن كيف يتحولن إلى شعر
بين يديه

Haiku # 700

Without a name
I go alone…
winds of autumn

Sans nom
je vais tout seul
sous le vent d’automne

~

Autumn evening…
the smell of a flower blooming
on the edge of my days

~

Autumn evening…
this loneliness deepens
with the colors of the sky

~

Her smile…
something to take with me
on the long journey

ابتسامتها
شيء لآخذه معي
في رحلتي الطويلة

~

Réunissant nos âmes
l’amour fusionne nos corps
en un seul poème

Free Verse # 455 (Naufragé du monde moderne)

Nudity is just another veil.

~

Naufragé du monde moderne, j’ai pris refuge sous le ciel de la poésie.

~

Longing – a word filled with endless distances.

~

رحلةُ الشِعرِ هذِهِ لعلّها لا شيءٌ آخر غير البحث عن لمسةِ امرأة.

This journey of poetry – perhaps it was nothing more than a search for a woman’s caress.

~

معطرٌ بأنفاسها
الدخان من فمها يصعد
ليملأ الغرفة
بحجابٍ رقيق
من الرغبة

~

In his heart
he feels her beauty
transformed into an ink
that he longs to write back
on the pages of her skin

~

Jalouse
une à une
elle empreinte ses baisers
en touchant les lèvres
au bout de ses poèmes

~

Early morning,
the sound of a rooster
crowing in the distance,
the wind stirring in the tall trees
as a bird softly sings,
your head resting on my belly
with my fingers running
through your black hair.
If happiness ever was
it is this moment.

Free Verse # 453 (a small poem)

Without them knowing
all the poets and painters
borrow from your beauty
to write and paint

~

Night falls
In the darkness
I feel myself being lowered
into a place of light

~

I begin every day with a small poem, and that is the little sun I plant inside my heart to accompany me throughout the day, that is my little prayer, my conversation with God.

I began by seeing her with my eyes, then I saw her with my heart.

It is the kindness that I love most in a face.

My woman has a body made of poems; I unravel her by delving into the waters of her mystery.

~

أكتب
كأنني امرر أصابعي ببطئ
فوق تعاريج بشرتك،
كأنني أتنشق رائحة شعرك
في صباحٍ خريفي.

~

When I am alone and silent
I find your face floating
to the surface of my heart
like a gentle wave of light

~

Though I’ve only known it
through the grace of poetry
your touch has pronounced
a holy utterance in me
turning my heart into a chapel
and a place of worship
filled with the fire of your love

These Poems

These poems, I write them
so I would not forget
how you taste like,
how you smell,
how simply seeing you
fills my heart with light.

These poems are doors
I keep going through,
doors opening to rooms
filled with endless skies,
rooms where you have just left
as I walked in
leaving only your scent
and a letter or two.

These poems remind me
of the stain of your lipstick
on the wine glass from that night
that we laughed and shared our silence
and looked into each other’s eyes
and knew.

These poems are my heartbeats
caught in a capsule
and carried by the waves
always towards you,
but you are the sea
and you are the waves
and the shore beyond is you.

These poems always say
one and the same thing,
“there is no place left in me
for being and non-being,
I am all-being, in you.”

These poems always say the same thing
though each time
a little stronger and more deeply,
these poems say, “I love you.”

Haiku # 693

بنيتُ لكِ في قلبي
كنيسةً صغيرة
ملأى باسمِكِ

~

In my heart
I built a small chapel
filled with your name

~

Her deep eyes
a perfect day
to fall in love

~

ما أحبَّ الرجلُ امرأةً إلا ولمسَ الشعرُ قلبهُ.

~

أنظرُ في عينيها
ثمَ أقبلها  واحدةً واحدة
أزهارُ بشَرتِها

Landscape

As I hold my pen
her skin under my fingers
stretches into a landscape,
each word I write
spins a little vortex,
a turning Sufi, a small flower,
all spreading across her skin,
spreading like a fire,
dripping into her soul
and coursing deep down,
filling her with more love
than she can understand,
with unbearable gentleness
opening her wide,
opening her to God,
opening her to the sky.

One by one I kiss
the flowers of her skin,
then look into her eyes.