Knees scorched and my heart is warm.
Reminiscing days of ocean blue.
Instead I sit in my armour.
Protecting the fierceness of winter breeze.
Hot and cold tend to possess this intensity.
Red licks upon cedars wood, reminding me of the significant vessel I occupy, is capable of feeling too.
There is a certain life to a flame, that I find difficult to express, so instead I will exist in this body.
Reminiscing.

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                        ­  
your cigar                                      
is glowing
in the dark
as a steady light
gripping                                                        ­   
on my heart
without flame
or blame 

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                   
I am
breathing
yellow fume
and coughing
in a room
filled with
perplex glow

The flame,
long since thinned,
Snuffed out by the wind

Only ashes remain,
Set to rekindle their flame.

All it takes is a small spark
To set the world ablaze
And leave us all in the dark

This Distant Light
by Walid Khazindar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bitterly cold,
winter clings to the naked trees.

If only you would free
the bright sparrows
from your fingertips
and release a smile―that shy, tentative smile―
from the imprisoned anguish I see.

Sing! Can we not sing
as if we were warm, hand-in-hand,
sheltered by shade from a sweltering sun?

Can you not always remain this way,
stoking the fire: more beautiful than expected, in reverie?

Darkness increases and we must remain vigilant
since this distant light is our sole consolation ...
this imperiled flame, which from the beginning
has constantly flickered,
in danger of going out.

Come to me, closer and closer.
I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours.
And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us.

Walid Khazindar was born in Gaza City. He is considered to be one of the very best Palestinian poets; his poetry has been said to be "characterized by metaphoric originality and a novel thematic approach unprecedented in Arabic poetry." He was awarded the first Palestine Prize for Poetry in 1997. Keywords/Tags: Arabic, translation, Arab, Palestine, Palestinian, Gaza, distant, light, flame, fire, autumn, winter, trees, birds, sparrows, fingertips, smile, sing, shade, sun, fire, darkness, hand, hands, snow

From the mind of a naughty girl;
                 in that sinful place
                 there is temptation
                 and by placing your finger there
                 you will bring out the devil in her.

I heard a man say once, that when you meet the love of your life... time stops. For a few minutes all you can do is notice. Notice their face. The curve of their jaw, the color of their eyes, the glow of their skin, how the space around them moves. I don’t believe that most people remember that moment, how fleeting it was. It gets lost in the tormented sea of ones memories. Lost to the abyss... that is the complexity of the human mind. It’s because we don’t realize it yet that we’ve met them. And when we have that contact it can sometimes get written off. I’m sure some pursue in that instant but some move on. Now what has just happened is a tiny ember. The serendipitous spark. Each now holds a piece of that spark. But now what to do with it. Consider we let it die. We ***** out it’s short life like sea foam on the sand. That is the end of your course. A burned bridge, a missed train, a phantom kiss. It’s gone and that’s that. But imagine, one would notice what they have in their hands. One sees the feeble flame in their palm and the natural thing to be is afraid. Too afraid to put it out out of anxieties of what if. Afraid to set the world ablaze out of fear of being the only one burning. See that’s the thing.... fear. Love is a gamble. Love is faith. Love is life and love is death. But fear... fear is the great thief of life and love. Now, the two that had no reason to be founders of flame, came upon them. They refused, they had forsaken the idea. Fear of the unknown. Time passes and ****** battles were fought. Time spun madly trying to blow the flams out but they guarded them and guarded each other’s.  Holding on to the aspiration, though feeble it was. In their fight against fate or destiny they amalgamated into whatever they could to avoid what they both already knew. The fall. The absolute vulnerability of falling is all consuming and inevitable. But what determines this is what is waiting to catch you at the bottom. They began to slip off the precipice’s edge to their inevitable drop. Fear and self loathing used to be their tethers cradling them like babes, but the flame grew larger and began to burn those ropes. When spinning wildly and frantically into the darkness that consumes the vulnerable, only one thing is your salvation. Each other. One looked at the other. They judged the instant and let go, allowing the flames to engulf themselves and other. The white heat burned the pain and self loathing and masochism away from them and they continued to burn together. All while weeping into each other’s arms and whispering nothings to each other. They fell and fell until they were no longer falling, but flying. The fall was the act of faith. The banishment of fear. The chains fell and rusted. Their destinies are now interwoven like poems on a page. Flame burning in their hearts to the next moment in which time will stop.