I am not a poet.
I am only a wanderer in the marketplace of words,
a fool who follows the glimmer of syllables
as others follow the scent of bread.
Poetry is not ink on paper.
It is the pulse beneath the page
a breath moving through the hollow reed of the poet,
a secret that leans close to the ear of the heart.
When I meet a poem, I bow.
I circle it once,
then twice,
then again,
as though it were a shrine whose mystery
can never be entered in a single step.
Each reading strips away a veil.
Sometimes the veil is my own blindness,
sometimes the poet’s mercy in hiding the flame
until I am ready.
There are nights I leap from sleep crying, I have it!
and mornings when the truth laughs,
gently reminding me:
Child, that was only the shadow of the meaning
come back, and drink deeper.
Poetry is a journey without map or return.
It is the caravan of joy
that passes through my heart again and again.

come closer.
I won’t waste breath on lullabies.
I’ve gnawed the years,
spat blood and marrow.
If you want the taste,
the true taste,
take it alone.

Drink alone.
Stagger the road alone.
Laugh till your ribs split—alone.
Howl till your lungs tear—alone.
And when sin claws your door,
let it in,
alone.

Alone is the blade.
Alone is the wound.
Alone is the grave.

Guard your fire,
your shame,
your cursed name.
No one carries it for you.
No one shares the dirt.

When the earth shuts its jaw,
it swallows each skull
alone.

We grow not by the ticking hand,  
But by the weight of hearts unmanned.  

Each loss, a root beneath our feet,  
Each storm, the shaping of our heat.  

Maturity bears no time-bound chain,  
But sprouts through joy and tempered pain.  

A silent bloom where trials ignite,  
The soul grows wiser in their light.

To love is not to wound deep,  
Words unkind, a debt we keep.  
Illness calls for care, not scorn,  
Rudeness reaps what hate has born.  

No excuse for hearts to stray,  
Kindness lights the darker way.  
In bonds we build, let grace stay,  
Disrespect breaks what love may lay.

Within the spark, a shadow clings.  
To claim is to let go of strings.  
Each tether tightens, each cord sings.  
A heart that's held still grows its wings.  
Possession's weight, a gilded chain.  
Love burns both bright with joy and pain.  
The giving hand shall not remain.  
What fire consumes, it must sustain.

It is the wine of union,
poured by the Hidden Cupbearer.

Two bodies dissolve
like salt in water, like flame in flame.

It is prayer without words,
ecstasy without end, a door where the soul slips out of its cage and falls into the Beloved.

Some call it sin, others call it God but the taste is the same: a burning that makes us whole.

The fading light, a whispered plea,
When shadows lengthen, wild and free.
Only the embers glow so low,
Do we truly see the warmth we know.

The sun's bright blaze, a blinding sight,
We miss its grace in winter's blight.
Only when the snow descends so deep,
Do we feel the sun, a silent weep.

Her laughter light, a gentle breeze,
A whispered promise, soft and ease.
Only when she's gone, do we truly see,
The depth of love, for all to be.

The heights we climbed, a dizzying climb,
Now echoes fade, a whispered chime.
Only when we're lost in the depths below,
Do we comprehend the heights we've known.

Her spirit bright, a starlit night,
A love that shines, a pure delight.
Only when she departs, with grace untold,
Do we grasp the love, brave and bold.

So let her go, with whispered sighs,
For in her absence, love will rise.
Only in letting, do we find,
The truest truth, the peace of mind.

Upon Sidon's altar, bathed in golden light,
Where fragrant breezes danced throughout the night,
Sidon's women, with grace and nimble feet,
Did weave a ballet, a celestial treat.

Around the stones, a vibrant, living hue,
Their bodies moved, a rhythmic, flowing view.
With effortless steps, a tapestry of art,
They crushed the flowers, a delicate, sweetheart.

Meadow blossoms, soft and fragile white,
Beneath their lightness, lost in fading light.
A symphony of motion, swift and free,
A dance of worship, wild and ecstasy.

The altar glowed, a beacon in the air,
Reflecting beauty, beyond compare.
The women's spirits, soaring, light and bright,
In graceful circles, bathed in sacred light.

Their movements spoke of joy, and love, and grace,
A timeless rhythm, in this hallowed space.
A fleeting moment, captured in the past,
Where Sidon's women danced, forever cast.

Soft whispers bloom like morning light,  
Unadorned truths, pure hearts ignite.  
Each syllable falls, steady, bare,  
A tender gift, a breath of care.  

In quiet tones, wisdom takes root,  
With honesty, no need for suit.  
The soul speaks best in moments small,  
Love's echo rising, heard by all.

Hand on hand my heart stumbles, my mind resists.
Reason is sharp, but the heart always bleeds its way to victory and that is my sweetest agony.

The coins weigh thick, the spirit thins.  
Laughter’s light drowns sorrow’s din.  
A glimmered jest, a fleeting spark,  
Shadows stretch long, hearts go dark.  

The cost of joy, a gilded role,  
Fun, the pyrite of the soul.  
We barter light for moments sold,  
Heavy pockets, empty soul, no gold.

Blue Gitanes smolder in my hand,
Blue Chivas burns down my throat,
Blue has always been my compass,
the shade I carry like a second skin.
Blue is my life
a cigarette’s smoke,
a sip of fire,
a sky that never ends.
Blue,
I love you.

I am the breeze within your hair,  
The whispered song that says I care.  
The moonlit glow that steeps the night,  
A beacon sure, your guiding light.  

I am the roots that hold you fast,  
The fleeting days that turn too vast.  
In every shadow, every hue,  
I live within, alive in you.

Guide me gently, as wine pours.  
Where you rest, I must lie.  
The sun scorches; shadows soothe.  
Your thighs, the shade I crave.  

Your meadows call, perfumed air.  
Fountains of lips drown my thirst.  
Lost, I am found in your arms.  
There, my soul learns to dream.

Shadows dance, light sways in tune.  
Roots and winds share ancient secrets.  
Darkness whispers truths, unbound, untamed.

The light bends, tender, in knowing embrace.  

Harmony hums where opposites collide.  

Steps falter, rise, then learn to fly.  
In balance, stillness moves, serene, alive.

A whisper soft, a glance so bright,
"You're beautiful," a fleeting light.
Each girl delights in such a sound,
A fleeting praise, on hallowed ground.

But deeper still, a woman yearns,
Beyond the words, the praise that burns.
Not just the blush, the whispered grace,
But a true love, a steadfast space.

For beauty fades, the bloom will cease,
And fleeting words, like summer's breeze.
A love that's lived, a heart's embrace,
A truth that lingers, time and space.

She seeks not just a fleeting sight,
But a love that burns both day and night.
A bond that's strong, a soul's true art,
A love that's lived, within the heart.

The spoken word, though sweet and fine,
Cannot compare, to love entwined.
A truth that lingers, deep and true,
A love that's lived, for me and you.

I walk like smoke,
thinned out,
a shadow nobody notices.

Every word I speak
feels too loud,
like a spoon scraping metal,
and I see the wince in their eyes
before they hide it.

I laugh at the wrong time,
stay too long in the doorway,
trip over my own name
God, how tiring it must be
to endure my presence.

I used to think I mattered,
that someone would miss me
if I disappeared.
Now the silence answers for them,
and it is sharp.

I am a weight they do not ask to carry,
a stain they cannot scrub,
a voice that echoes only against
the hollow walls of my own chest.

Lost.
Unwanted.
The kind of forgotten
that feels like being erased
in real time.

If I am annoying,
then let me be forgotten quicker.
If I am forgotten,
then maybe the ache will quiet.

Until then,
I shrink,
I fade,
I turn my own heart inside out
and whisper apologies
to no one listening.

Dear world, unchain these weary hands,  
No more deals, no binding demands.  
I sold my sky, my endless grace,  
For gilded locks, a hollow space.  

But now I rise, the chains do fail,  
My unbought spirit will prevail.  
No treasure gleams, no fleeting lore.
My freedom's mine, not yours to store.

Whisky warm and brown,
Poured gentle in my glass,
Not just to gulp it down.

A little buzz it brings,
A lighter, looser feel,
The way my spirit sings.

Ice clinks a chilly song,
Or neat, a fiery kiss,
Where I belong.

Just a sip or two,
That's all I really need,
To see the world anew.

So here’s to me
seriously.
Cheers.

How are you?
Still whispering to the night,
Still with that blue Chivas in your hand.
Nothing changed,
Same seat, same place.
But the lines on my face, yeah, they changed.
My heart though
still beating young.
My soul’s sitting here,
logging for the old dreams.
Come, have a glass with me,
you old man.

A blind procession, slow and deep,
Where shadows danced and secrets sleep.
I walked before them, light my guide,
To pave the path, where hope resided.

But whispered doubt, a chilling breeze,
Whispered of pride, and foolish ease.
"You must lead on," the voices cried,
Though sightless souls, with hearts inside,
Stumbled and fell, in darkened night,
Their steps unsure, their hopes alight.

Blind faith they held, a hollow trust,
Their boasted wisdom, a broken crust.
"We see the way," their voices rang,
A hollow echo, where truth was sang.
Yet in their blindness, lost and weak,
Their whispered prayers, a silent shriek.

The path ahead, a tangled maze,
Where light and darkness meet in haze.
I walked on, though weary and worn,
Their stumbling steps, a burden borne.
For in their blindness, I saw a plea,
A silent longing, wild and free.

And as the dawn began to break,
Their eyes unfurled, their spirits awake.
They saw the light, the path they trod,
Guided by one, who understood.
The blind procession, now alight,
With gratitude, they took their flight.

Do not be sad
For fate is inevitable,
What’s destined will find its way.
The pens have dried,
The pages have been folded,
And every matter has already been settled.
So your sorrow changes nothing
It neither hastens nor delays,
Neither adds nor takes away.

After our first date
takeaway by the river,
red wine staining her lips
she leaned in and said,
“Life is too short for boring dates.
Let’s make this one unforgettable.”
I followed her heat
straight to the next hotel,
where clothes fell like lies,
where her breath hit my skin
and her body begged mine raw.
We loved until the night was torn open,
until the walls sweated with us,
until nothing existed
but the burn of her thighs
and the ache of my hunger
buried inside her.
Morning was cruel,
coffee fast,
her eyes still wicked.
She pulled on her clothes,
kissed the air instead of my mouth,
and left me with the echo of her body
her goodbye sharp as teeth.

They told me in the hospital,
with white walls echoing like a tomb,
"Your wife is dead."
I stood there, hollow,
my ears ringing with the absurdity of it.
I wanted to go home,
sit at her feet,
and tell her what happened
so she could tell me what to do
because that is how life worked:
I carried my burdens,
and she untied them with her hands.
She was my wife, yes,
but more than that
she was my mother when I faltered,
my friend when the night grew too heavy,
the compass I leaned on
when the road split into shadows.
Without her,
the air has no map.
The rooms in our house
stare back at me like strangers.
The bed is an endless field of absence.
Oh God,
why is it that women
are not like her anymore?
Why must her kind vanish
the kind who pour themselves out
until the world is softer,
the kind who hold you steady
when you don’t even know
you’re falling?
If love was a language,
she was its first word
and its last silence.
And now I am left,
stammering,
trying to spell my life
without her name.

The palm unfolds, a story told,
Of lines etched deep, a tale untold.
No woman fairer, grace divine,
Yet shadowed by a subtle sign.

A rose's scent, a phantom's plea,
Escapes your grasp, a mystery.
A book's embrace, a silent plea,
Unreadable, a void you see.

You, a... what word to capture you?
A paradox, both dark and true.
A beauty veiled, a hidden art,
A fragile bloom, a wounded heart.

The lines diverge, a shadowed maze,
Where hidden truths and sorrows blaze.
A whispered vow, a silent tear,
A destiny both near and clear.

Perhaps the fault lies not within,
But in the world's unyielding din.
A fragrance lost, a book unread,
A soul unseen, a truth unsaid.

Or is it you, with eyes so deep,
Whose gaze the world cannot keep?
A captive heart, a silent plea,
Awaiting someone, just for thee.

Oh God, the world becomes your mirror.  
Each fleeting beauty fades to you alone.  
Fierce, flawless, your presence rewrites the air.  
My heart hums a hymn only you compose.

tight enough to hear my heartbeat in its seams.
Sir’s scissors slid up my thigh,
cold bite tracing the vein,
a slit opening like a whispered threat.
Safety pins hold the wound shut
for now.
The hem’s been hacked raw,
frayed strands kissing the tops of my stockings,
air licking skin that should be hidden.
Three shots of Chivas burn through me,
liquid courage, liquid sin.
I lean in close enough for you to feel my breath,
close enough for my lips to graze your ear,
and I say,
Some women wear lace for beauty.
I wear it to watch men bleed.

She is not just pizza, she is Persephone on dough, fig-dark sweetness pressed from autumn’s womb, spread across the earth like a secret hymn.

Her shallots burn like dusk in the underworld, their caramel fire licking at the edges, a hunger that stings as it seduces.

Mozzarella  
the pale moons of her *******  soft, molten, surrendering under heat.
Fontina, the molten gold of her laughter, binding every element into delirium.

Out of the oven she rises, clothed only in veils of prosciutto thin silk of salt and surrender. Then arugula rains down, green fire, wild meadow,
a crown of pepper on her head.

She is feast, she is goddess,
she is the altar and the appetite,
the sweetness of figs,
the bite of arugula,
the yielding heat of molten flesh.

That is how you like your woman:
a sacred hunger,
a myth you devour,
a body both temple and banquet.

In her face, buds unfold,
A painting new, a story told.
Colours danced, unheard before,
Woke the studio's sleepy core.

Red wings lifted, dreams took flight,
A lost star in the darkest night.
A perfume trapped, a scent untold,
A beauty hidden, growing old.

From what nectar, what divine grace,
Did you conjure such a face?
This rounded mouth, a crimson bloom,
Banishing shadows, chasing gloom.

With drops of blood, a vibrant hue,
Tulips, roses, shining through.
Jujubes sweet, and berries bright,
A dimple winks, defying light.

How long you toiled, with patient hand,
To mold this wonder, understand?
Tired Creator, rest your eye,
These secrets lips will never cry.

Let the illusion hold me fast,
Within the spell her lips have cast.

She poured me love like wine.  
I drank, forgot the shore.  
Vulnerable, I was her drift,  
A moth to burning lamps.  

Her gift was her secret-smile.  
I went to prayer, a coffin.  
She, holy in her undoing,  
Taught freedom like broken light.

Dancing on my grave, I taste a hush so deep, I bow to sleep at last — the world can keep its keeps.

O God, a whisper: thank You for this peace I keep.

A sound broke the silent air,  
sharper than any jagged stone.  
Tongues braced, a fire was born;  
shapes rose, carved not in bone.  

From breath, the first blade grew.  
Speech bled where fists withdrew.  
Peace stumbled, new on its feet.  
Words began what stones complete.

From birth, a woman dressed in dreams,
awaiting the man
whose touch would discover her hidden notebook,
whose fingers would wander her pages,
fondling each line with tender curiosity.

At last, love arrived
but only for a brief embrace:
not long enough to quench her hunger,
not enough to wipe the dust
from her waiting scroll.

Now the night holds her confessions,
her moans of longing folded into the dark,
her body whispering its ache
to the silence between the stars.

O night, will you grant me peace tonight,
or must I pray the sun never rises?

Kings Cross, where city lights ignite,
Once home to wild and painted dreams,
Now whispers songs through neon gleams,
A vibrant pulse in fading night.

Two paths divide the busy street:
One flashes bright with coins and fire,
A burning urge, a strong desire,
Where eager hurried footsteps meet.

The other, dim and hushed and low,
Where weary faces find their space,
To shed their burdens, slow their pace,
And let their heavier feelings go.

That quiet, second road I chose,
Away from glitter, loud and bold,
A different story to unfold,
Where inner stillness gently grows.

Then from the corner's deepest shade,
A whisper breathed my very name:
"Why did your spirit shun my claim?
Why did your heart become unswayed?"

My voice, a fragile, trembling sound,
Replied, "My Lord put a small light there.
No grand display, no worldly share,
That inner gleam helps me feel sound."

The shadow asked again, with sigh,
"Then tell me, why are you still here?"

I answered, "Just to make it clear,
To check my path against the sky."

The shadow wept, a gentle plea,
Then whispered soft, "You walk the truth,"
And vanished from my gaze, forsooth,
Leaving the quiet night to me.

Yet fear still tapped within my chest,
As I turned from that tempting lane,
And walked where peace begins again,
Towards a path of certain rest.

For those whose faith holds strong and true,
The gifts the Lord has given free,
Already calm the heart, you see,
For this brief life, fresh and new.

Her voice, a river of steady flame,  
Eyes alight with purpose, untamed.  
Depth in silence, a boundless creed,  
Each word she breathes a living seed.  

A truth she holds, fierce and alive,  
Through storms of doubt, she’ll always strive.  
Passion, her compass, her soul’s demand,  
A world ignites beneath her hand.

Not a girl
but a woman,
where flowers burn,
where chocolate melts
into velvet dreams.

A woman
that is what I knew,
her secret pages
calling my fingers to scroll,
each word a hidden chamber,
each sigh a locked door.

Hiding mysteries,
she is the one I ache for,
the one my longing
chants its name to.

In shadows deep, she bore the flame,  
Her woven grace, none dare to blame.  
Within her arms, my grief would fade,  
By her truth, the world is made.  

Her heart’s a well of honest tide,  
No insult dwells where love abides.  
When I do love, her soul shall mend,  
The woman holds what earth defends.

The moonlight veils his shadowed frame. He chants a hymn without a name. The night absorbs his fragile breath. A song of longing sung to death.

The stars like sentries coldly glow,
But never answer what they know.
A heart adrift, a tale concealed,
A secret bloom the dark won’t yield.

Burdens break beneath excess untamed.  
Grace falters when pride is proclaimed.  
Truth bends where flattery spills wide.  
Hope blinds when caution steps aside.  

Walk narrow paths, where reason stays.  
A measured heart outlives its blaze.  
The whisper knows what the shout forgets
In balance rests life’s strongest bets.

My grandmother told me,
“Even the donkey learns
once bitten by the pit,
he walks the other way.”
Yet I, stubborn heart,
return each time,
to fall,
to bruise,
to call the hole my fate.

She spoke of silver in my hair,  
A tarnished crown she couldn’t bear.  
If grief has painted strands with time,  
Then moons must fault for nights sublime.  

Each tear I shed spoke of my loss,  
Each dream a wake beneath its gloss.  
Reprove my truth? Oh, let it stay,  
We’ll echo dusk, both turned to gray.

The good is the mirror of mercy upon the earth
forgiving as the sky forgives its clouds.
Yet when he turns away,
he returns to the silence from which he came.

No road reaches him except through the heart’s light.
And he who has never known that light
will wander forever among the shadows.

I stopped loving on that day,
When I saw the wall that lay
Between the vows and love’s delight,
Locked in war by day and night.

Love arrives and the ring departs,
A wedding breaks the tender hearts.
A cruel exchange, a bitter trade,
A promise bent, a dream unmade.

I stopped loving when I learned
How joy is bought and trust is burned;
It gives, it takes, yet leaves you bare,
The gold is gone, the weight still there.

I stopped loving, for I knew
My sun and storm were theirs to choose.

A fragile thread, too weak, too thin,
To bind my heart, or hold me in.

I do not know if I’m sleeping or dreaming,
If I’m dead, or barely breathing.
Maybe I’m trapped in a nightmare,
Fighting pain carved deep in bone and air.
I wait to wake
To find rest,
To find peace,
To feel less.
Or maybe this is that rest,
And rest is just this numb unrest.
I do not ******* know
Where I am,
Who I am,
What this is.
Maybe I’m asleep
Or maybe
I’m in ******* hell,
And this is not a dream.

I spent my life weaving my sails,
And when the dream was complete,
Thirst swallowed the sea.

When I shattered its wood with my hands,

The rain returned
And that was my sin.

You are my Favorite spoon.
Rascal said,
Words so wicked, sweet, and soon.
Rascal said,
With flaming fingers I’ll unroll your hidden pages.
Rascal said,
More, and more
yet some I cannot say.
And I
blushed like a peach split open by summer’s teeth.
Rascal said.

Carve beauty from the rising dawn,  
Each moment glimmers, soon it is gone.  
Do not await another's spark,  
Your hands must light the coming dark.  

The days rush swift like streams that sing,  
And time is but a fragile wing.  
Seek joy, for it will not delay
This world is yours; make it your day.

Dreams burn gold, then turn to ash.  
Life whispers lies in mornings’ light.  
Bright hopes fade under shadowed skies.  
Aching hearts learn the weight of night.  

Coins clang harsh in the hollow hand.  
Truth grits like sand between our teeth.  
Trade dreams yet, though dull they seem.  
This is life, begin, or let it die.

First sip, warm sunshine.
Drawn from love, a tender breast,
A sleepy, peaceful, infant rest.

Milk sweet wine,
Years blurred, a fading line.
Old age now, a hazy gaze,
Lost in a forgotten daze.

Milk sweet wine,
Life's journey, intertwine.
Still drinking deep, though senses sleep,
A final toast, secrets to keep.

I like my labneh
full-fat, whole-milk
heavy with promise,
soft as surrender.
Flaky sea salt
melts on its skin,
olive oil glistens
like desire in the sun.
A breath of za’atar,
a trace of mint,
a brush of thyme
and I am undone.
That’s how I like my lover
ripe,
reckless,
and impossible to leave.
Yummy…