Guessing the faces
of the shape shifting clouds…
every face is you!
~
To the world’s end
and beyond I’ll wait
for one smile form you
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Tag: Poetry
With My Heart
Not with my eyes,
I see her with my heart;
with my heart
I touch her face,
run my fingers through her hair;
with my heart
I hear her voice,
her laughter,
her unspoken words;
with my heart
I listen to her breath,
know what she keeps
locked in her heart,
her deepest longings,
her fears, her dreams,
her desires for tomorrow,
and her boundless ache to be loved;
with my heart I know her
and offer her my heart,
my life and manhood;
with my heart
I gaze into her eyes
and see my life,
past and future,
our unborn children,
and count all the stars in the universe
one by one;
not with my eyes,
I see her with my heart.
Tanka # 184
Falling dusk…
all the birds
returning home,
and my heart
is a bird too.
Tanka # 183
Some things
though unseen
are true
like this love in my heart
that I have for you
Thank you for the pain, Love
This pain you gave me
as you left I’ll take
as a parting gift,
I’ll cherish it, nurture it,
and grow it in my heart
until I am strong again,
stronger than I was,
until my depth as a man
through this pain is expanded,
until I can, at last,
give the pain of losing you
to the world again
as a gift of love,
becoming a better man
than the one I was.
In this way I remain faithful
to the love we shared,
in this way I remain faithful
to your heart of unbound love,
in this way I release you from me
and give you back to the world, as love…
فاجأتني
فاجأتني
فلم أكن اتوقعها؛
فاجأتني
وأخذت قلبي كالعاصفة؛
فاجأتني
وعلمت قلبي معنى
الخفقان والنبض؛
فاجأتني
هي التي لم أعرف
الا وجهها في أحلامي؛
فاجأتني
ولم أعرف أنها هي
الا بعد أن رحلت؛
فاجأتني
ثم تركتني غارقا
في عطرها وشعرها
وصوتها وبريق عينيها؛
فاجأتني
وها أنا أنتظرها
عل الانتظار
يمل يوما مني
ويريني الطريق
…إلى قلبها
At Dawn
Waking up before dawn, waiting for the first birdsong. Exquisitely melodious as it echoes in the deep nocturnal silence that is becoming tainted with shades of blue and white. As the light and noise thicken and as the day begins to wake, the silence is eroded and the melody loses in its ring and quality though it continues further on until the day is fully roused. Nothing, for me, beats the magic and poetry of these wonderful beginnings. Now, on the edge of winter, I wait for spring and summer when the melodious song can be accompanied by the hum of crickets, a soft wind breeze, and the stars as they slowly disappear from the whitening sky. I will always wait for the first birdsong at dawn.
