Wind blew! - Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai

Wind blew! The sand enveloped the body,
Whatever little life left, is to see the beloved.

My Friends - Carlos Aragón

(in semi-syncopated flow)
.
Where are they? Where are they?
Where are my old friends?
Those from our little school
and those from the university…

Improper Meeting - Shahid Qadri

Wild pigs will find their favorite mud.
Kingfishers will get the desired fish.
Nights--deep dark--will be white in heavy rain.
Peacocks will dance in a dense forest.

Lovers will eventually make love with partners,
But they will never be happy, never, never, never...

Wanderers will get back home alone.
In an empty pot,
Rice will shine up like the stars, and
You will get the old, forgotten song back to your tongue.

Lovers will eventually make love with partners,
But they will never be happy, never, never, never ...

They will stop marching in army barracks.
Hungry tigers will grasp a blue deer,
The village breeze will bring
The gentle tune of women song--
And you will find a room to stay together.

Lovers will eventually make love with partners,
But they will never be happy, never, never, never... 

---

Shahid Qadri (1942 - 2016) Bangladesh
Translated by Hassanal Abdullah
Source: Shabdaguchha

We Both Are Here, Again - Jibanananda Das

We both are here, again,
in memory of sound bird’s river of light.
Thought we both are
Egyptian mummies.

Passing trains - Aksinia Mihaylova

                                             to my brother
 
Everything is still the same
after the midpoint of our lives just passed-
we buy apples
at the market next to the train station,

Small house and quiet roof tree - Petronius Arbiter

Small house and quiet roof tree, shadowing elm,
Grapes on the vine and cherries ripening,
Red apples in the orchard, Pallas' tree
Breaking with olives, and well-watered earth,

Everlasting Rainbow - Hidhaya Efram

A light that lit all hearts
A sun in everyone's sky
And angel a king and a star that shone
A guiding light for humanity

Mitumba - Sam Mbure

Mitumba too mitumba too mitumba too mitoo
like butterflies that can’t fly
mitumba's here, mitumba's there
Mitumba’s everywhere

Fountains - L. Onerva

Glittering bright, streaming in swirls
flow night-deep fountains of tears,
rolling in streams as golden pearls,
ancient remains of my happy years.

Liber III: Ye Venuses and Cupids mourn, - Catullus

Ye Venuses and Cupids mourn,
Ye whom the graces most adorn.
Come, and your tears of sorrow shed:
My Lesbia's little bird is dead—