Clouds and wind…
immersed in the breath
of this great earth
I often feel that the winds and clouds are the breath of the earth, that we are all engulfed in a single breath, sustaining us, keeping us alive, shrouding us in its great, endless mystery.
Tag: Poetry
The Ultimate Gift
In a city of constant noise
you were the silent beauty
which presence lifted me
into a higher realm of harmony,
who opened up higher worlds for me,
filled me up with passion
and gave me the ultimate gift,
the kiss of poetry.
Haiku # 725
From their treetops
the crows already see
the coming year
Last day of the year…
amid the bare trees I walk
on my solitary way
My lonely path
into the new year wanders
between bare trees
This, my life,
I animate with my heart
and live as poetry…
New year
old resolutions
this life of poetry
Haiku # 724
تمُرُّ بجانبي
أحبُسُ أنفاسي لأتَنَشقْ
رائحةَ عُطرِها
Clear winter night
the silent stars fill
my heart with wonder
In the puddle at my feet
rippling
the winter moon
Cold winter night
under the moonlight
two lovers holding hands
The Poet’s Life
A poet lives a lonely life
that he may shape birds
out of his own heart
that he sends flying
into the deepest forests
and over the highest mountains
to enliven the mist of the world
with the warmth of his song
Tanka # 215
This poetry
I gather it inside of me
like a promise,
and each time I utter it
it says your name.
Haiku # 723
Through the leafless branches
peeking as I walk
the winter moon
Things Invisible
There are things invisible
whose presence is known only
by the way they affect others
such as the wind passing through
or kindness for no reason given
or the way your beauty
makes light glow around your skin
or the way my love bends the world
in a hymn song for you
Wandering Thought # 243
I am a mystic through and through. Poetry was never for me an artistic endeavour but a spiritual one. It was my way to go beyond myself, into myself, and touch something of the Eternal that manifests itself through us and through every form that comes into existence, as the movement of existence itself. I am a mystic, a poet of the heart, I am one who listens.
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
Wandering Thought # 240
The self is not an isolated atom; it is only a self in relation to others and to the world; it is not a state, an identity, but a locus of interdependent experiences where the external commingles with the internal, a process in which both are modified. It is modern madness to confuse self with personhood. For it spells our isolation from other people as well as the world, cutting us off from life and its flow. The psyche is not merely individual, but the individual is an expression of it, which makes the psyche communal, .incorporating even nature and the inanimate. Therefore our modern psychological diseases are not problems occurring only within us, but we are the site in which what is ill in society and our way of life expresses itself.
To the modern madness we must oppose: myth and poetry.
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.
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 # 720
القمرُ في النافذة
ضوءهُ يُعيدُني
إلى بيتِ الطفولة
À l’abri du monde
mon cœur est un bourgeon
sa fleur un poème
من نافذةِ المكتب
أُراقبُ عصافير الحقل
كم هي حرّة وسعيدة
المعبدِ القديم
أحجارهُ أزهارَ لوزٍ
تناثرت في الريح
وحيداً عند المساء
منصتاً للصمت
الذي يلفُّ أيامي
صمتُ الظهيرة
أستمعُ لزيزِ الصيف
وأنتظٍرُ الخريف
حرٌّ لاهب
أُحاول أن أقرأ
وأنا أمسح عرقي
في صومعتي
أقرأ وأكتب
منتظراً ظهور القمر
الأيامُ التي مرّت
وتساقطت كأوراق الخريف
ما زالت تلمعُ أحياناً
تحتَ ضوءِ القمر
قلبيَ الضائع
عصفورٌ أرسلتهُ
إليكِ
مهما فعلت بك الحياة
لا تهمل قلبكَ
وتنسى أنكَ شاعر
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
Wandering Thought # 136
It was enough to drink poetry just once for its wine to seal my fate. Like seeing a light so strong that it burns itself in the consciousness of the soul. It is a truth one cannot unsee, but it’s not exactly a truth — what, then? It is a spaciousness in the heart; an understanding of the interconnectedness of everything in life, its full circle; it is the dwelling in the eternal, the absolute, and the viewing of linear time for what it is, an illusion; it is the revival of the old myths of perpetual creation – life, existence, and consciousness as being created every single moment, with every single breath, and the feeling of the sacred and the divine as inhabiting and channeled in this moment and breath; it is life with passion and intensity to the utmost, yet it is a simple life, a life of duration of simple yet deep feelings, a life lived close to the essence of things; it is a life that gives voice to things no one sees or cares about; it is a life that dares to shed off itself all the falsity and illusions of modern society, a life that dares to live by itself, a world contained and overflowing in its own solitude. Our fate chooses us and we earn it when we have the courage to choose it in return. So I choose, again and again, this life of poetry.
Haiku # 718
A life in ruins…
alone I sit
gazing at the moon
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.
Haiku # 717
النمَش على بشَرَتِها
خريطةٌ إن تَبِعتها
وَصَلتَ إلى النُجومْ
The freckles on her skin
a map guiding you
to the endless stars
~
كلّ من قرأ قصيدتي
تنشقَ قليلاً
من عطر حبيبتي
~
Gazing at the stars
for a moment I remember
my true name
متأملاً النجوم
للحظةٍ تذكرت
اسميَ الأول
~
عصفور الفجر
من نافذة إلى نافذة
ينشر الفرح بأغنيته
~
Lost in my book
through its clouds I glimpse
the hills of her body
Lost in my book
I navigate the stars
strewn across her body
Rooted in Love 