Free Verse # 445 (a lonely cabin)

She hated the camera
yet when I photographed her
with poetry’s lens
she looked into my eyes
asking me to bare her
a little more, a little deeper,
to photograph her soul.

~

When I touch you
my heart is still,
like a star being reborn
into the vastness of the sky.

~

Her light is nourishment for my soul.

~

Dawn
on the still breeze
I feel a window
open between our hearts

~

A lonely cabin in a lost wood,
fire in the chimney,
empty bottles of wine,
his voice reading
as her head rises and falls
to the heave of his chest
while his arm surrounds her,
the falling night outside
hiding them
from the eyes of the world.

~

Her perfume of choice –
all that touches her skin
burns with the poetry
of his touch

Free Verse # 444 (with his touch he fuels her fire)

To love her
is to touch her heart
where a hidden world
lives silently
waiting to be known
and be filled with light

~

Je t’aime, il lui dit,
non pas avec ses mots,
mais avec sa présence,
avec son attention,
avec ses yeux.

~

With his touch
he fuels her fire,
clothing her
in the silk of kisses
and tender words,
listening to the heartbeats
pulsating in her skin,
uncovering the love
in her yearning eyes,
feeling through her
to her depth
that is wider than the sky.

~

Self-sufficient
or so I thought
until I felt her presence
and learned what it means
to be alive

~

في صدريَ ملاكٌ اسمُهُ حُبُكِ.

~

Love, my silent tormentor.

~

Not over her skin
but into her soul
his gaze glides
rushing and frothing
in seas and rivers
and reaching deep down
into an endless sky

~

He breathes out
and she aches
to breathe him in,
cradle his breath,
a fire growing
inside of her.

~

Every day
I start it with a poem,
my own way of looking
into your eyes
and telling you I love you,
you who is not here but lives
in the beatings of my heart.

~

Each dawn this ache in my chest
with your soft voice says –
‘here, I am inside of you,
wherever you go
you always carry me
in your heart’

Haiku # 673

…قمر الشتاء في النافذة
قلبي الفارغ
من كل الألوان

~

Patiemment j’attends
le retour de mon cœur
battant dans le tien

~

Valentine’s day…
in her living room
the empty vase

~

Between us
a silent world
traversed by a sigh

~

بيننا
عالم صامت
تعبره تنهيدة

~

قبر الشاعر
تنهيدة ضائعة
في عالم من ريح

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# 672

Winter night…
a lone star outshining
all the city lights

~

هي ترتدي
ما يحيكه لها من نفسه
ونار الكلمات

~

I love her silently
the ghost in the mirror
of my lonely years

~

A life of hiking
one day I’d like to vanish
in the stillness of the sky

~

حزني
في مرآته أرى
جمال الأشياء

~

Plus blanche
pour toucher sa peau
la lumière de la lune

~

Whiter
for touching her skin
the light of the moon

~

Winter twilight…
in the light of sunset
my dissolving years

Free Verse # 443 (if not a person, then what is she?)

Shaded in red and gold
my life is a book of poems
haunted by your specter,
you who was lost from the beginning,
you who was never mine
and will never be.

~

ان الله، عند خلقها، وجد نفسه شاعرا.

~

أما هي فابتسمت
عندما نظر اليها
كحديقة لم تزهر
منذ زمن طويل

~

بجانبنا تمرّ الحياة،
أنا وهي جالسين
على مقعدٍ في مقهى،
متقاسمين نفس نرجيلةٍ
وأطراف حديث،
نفسي يعبق برائحتها
ونفسها برائحة حنينٍ
أغرقه في كأسي،
في صحني،
في قلبي،
وأرفعه، محترقاً،
الى شفتيها.

~

All that I know about poetry I learned from gazing at her face.

~

As she sleeps
my breath travels
along her skin,
planting in her curves
the seeds of a fire
older than the stars.

~

Inhaling it deeply
his breath settles
amid her ribs
and flowers
on her skin
on her lips
in her eyes
a silent language
meant only for his eyes.

~

His breath
she yearns to feel it
filling up her lungs
seeping through her veins
rising to her head,
intoxicated, dizzy
in this connection,
this bond,
this poetry.

~

In her black hair
I dip my pen
and on the sheets
of her skin
I write my poems,
line after line,
kiss after kiss.

~

If not a person,
then what is she?
A long journey
with no place to rest,
an empty road
with flowers on its sides,
a hike into the forest
of no return.
Not a person to hold,
she is home
in the form of a fire
burning silently
in my chest.
She lives in my vision
of this world.

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

Tangled & Merging

Night falls,
her dark hair in rivulets
fills its lonesome corners;
the candle of her breath
ignites somewhere
inside the vast darkness,
casting a play of shadows
against the spinning walls;
a cloistered world,
an intimate world
of poetry and wine
and our lips
and our naked bodies
tangled and merging
somewhere deep inside.

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.

Haiku # 649 | Tanka# 191

Her flowering skin…
The moon unfolding
midnight stories

~

من الفسخ الموجع في قلبي
أتلمّس بأنامل مرتجفة
الضوء الذي يأتيني من وجهها

~

This poetry –
with every verse
I attempt to say
the intimate language
of her eyes.

Cette poésie –
avec chaque verset
j’essaie de le dire,
le langage intime des yeux
de la femme que j’aime.

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