وضعت فمي على فمها
كأني بين شفتيها وجدت
مهد الشعر والنبيذ
~
نمش بشرتها
الخريطة التي بها
أعبر الى النجوم
~
أبدأ نهاري
وأنا أرتشف الدفىء
من شفتيك
~
كالثلج الأبيض
يستقر العمر
في شعري
Like white snow
age settles
on my hair
~
Tea on a cold night
finishing a book
and starting another
يلفظ الكلمات كأنها
…أوراق خريف تتساقط
!الشاعر
~
Autumn returns
and my heart fills
with a nameless longing
~
La nuit descend…
dans un coin de mon cœur
s’allume une chandelle
~
Autumn evening
I light a candle
and open my book
~
Itinerant heart –
no house but the road,
no home but the wind…
~
Steeping my tea
as the moon quietly
looks through the window
From me to you
the path
that cannot be seen,
a breath of tea
in autumn’s silence.
Year after year
the tea getting greener…
the garden of my books
~
The strangeness of moonlight…
the name I can’t remember,
the name I can’t forget.
No words to say
only heartbeats hushed
in the ear of the moon
~
Quieter each year
only speaking
with the light of the moon
~
Misfit heart…
a patchwork of poetry
inked in silence
~
Ending the day
her breath, a shawl
wrapped around my neck
~
In my teacup
steeping
the white leaves of the moon
Tea brew…
autumn leaves steeping
in a still pond
~
Drinking it alone
the bitter cup of tea…
last days of summer
~
Blowing dust…
the dew of a moment
on a summer evening
In the black of my tea
the moon’s scythe aquiver
with stars in her womb
~
Froid d’hiver —
la mort tremble
dans le cri d’un loup
~
Vincent’s yellow pigments
melting to a steam —
tea with a friend
Year after year
My green tea
Darker and more bitter,
Growing old
With my books.
Over my teacup
Lluvia hovers…
Cloud of memories.
Twilight moon…
on my tongue the sting
of her dark tea
~
Afternoon tea…
your kiss steeping
inside my ribs
~
Do you hear it?
the still of autumn
with each falling leaf
Autumn’s brew…
red leaves steeping
in a still pond
They all leave
without a trace…
leaves of autumn
~
Jasmine tea…
alone I drink
the hues of dusk
~
…شاي الياسمين
لوحدي أرتشف
ضياء المغيب
~
Her fragrant warmth…
vapour of tea
in autumn sunset
~
Jasmine scent at dusk…
I felt her fragrance
beneath my skin
Ginger tea…
the burn of her lips
melting into mine
Poetry is my craft,
each verse laced
with the scent of her skin
~
Dusk falls,
the silent butterfly
brushing my lips
whispers her name
~
Night falls
and I am naked
before your whisper
that bares me of all
save the sanctity of your name
~
Night descends
and pain like a flame
cuts through my ribcage and rises,
skyward reaching for the star
always dwelling in your silence,
always burning in your eyes.
~
Rose and ginger tea
opening the chakras
of root and heart –
fertility sinking
into the ground of light.
~
The wind at dawn
breezes through my ribs
and from my chest
a birdsong rises
rippling through the sky
the syllables of your name
Tea and honey,
a haiku forming
on her lips.
Gray light
of a rainy day,
the tea’s lonely breath.
Winter morning,
on her red lips
the vapour of warm tea.
Hot tea
and the rain,
a ballad of longing.
Cool autumn eve,
in this cup of tea
the memory of her lips.
Her sweet scent
a bitter tea,
the jasmine flower.
Rooted in Love 