Freedom has Hands - Oktay Rifat

Proudly they were running, our horses
Toward the calm sea

Wake, wake, I pray thee, shrill-toned lyre - Synesius

Wake, wake, I pray thee, shrill-toned lyre!
No more to fan the Teïan fire,
No more the Lesbian strain to raise,
Wake, wake to hymn of nobler praise!

The Bird of Hope - Luis Enrique Belmonte

They marked the door with knife stabs,
belched out our names,
      spit on the mailboxes,
threw sulfur in the garden.

Agar - Liyou Libsekal

I remember a yellow scarf fashioned every which way and beautiful bones that peaked at the cheeks.
Mounted proud “young mother” in  eyes mourning a daughter left behind

Laconic - Sohini Basak

Not everyone will respond to whistling; take the collared dove
I tried to talk to this morning while checking if my socks
were still wet on the clothesline. I said hello to which
the dove paid no notice, her speckled plumes shining

It's beautiful when - Dan Sociu

How sad and beautiful man is when he’s wrong
about the world (and maybe he’ll never
know), like the cat driven mad
by the shining of a knife on the wall.

Day - Olga Khvostova

Why do you, arriving at the sea, sit by the river
of time, washing your feet in it, crushing your brains,
turning your hooked nose up to the sky?

Mountains/3 - José Manuel Arango

1
With a glass in my hand, looking at the mountains,
I caress the back of my dog.

I lift my hands, and with my heart - Anonymous

I lift my hands, and with my heart,
My prayer ascends to Thee;
In mercy take a sinner’s part,
Lord, send Thy help to me.

The Korathy's Lullaby - T. Ramakrishna

Stay, darling, stay—'tis only for an hour,
And you will be the fairest of the fair.
Your lotus eyes can soothe the savage beast,
Your lips are like the newly blossomed rose,
Your teeth—they shine like pearls; but what are they
Before the beauties of my handiwork?

From the Forest - Avrom Sutzkever

Of grass and flowers, the substance dissolves
Into drops of dew.
And he who wants can see
The subtle play
Of black and fire, silver and blue.

The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God - J. Milton Hayes

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

Genesis Book III - Cædmon

The day departed,
hasting over the dwellings of earth.
And after the gleaming light the Lord, our maker,
thrust on the first of evenings.

Fogland - Ingeborg Bachmann

In winter my lover thrives
among the forest creatures.
The laughing fox knows I must return
before morning.
How the clouds tremble! And a layer
of broken ice falls on me
from the snow craters.

Returning to the Fields - Tao Yuanming

When I was young, I was out of tune with the herd:
My only love was for the hills and mountains.
Unwitting I fell into the Web of the World’s dust
And was not free until my thirtieth year.

Thoughts are apples - Hugo von Hofmannsthal

Thoughts are apples on the tree,

Happy Solitude—Unhappy Men - Madame Guyon

My heart is easy, and my burden light;
I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight:

Mango Trees - Christian Benitez

Sunset mangoes
hang perpetually, the naked
boughs arching
like a mother’s hand.

The bus song - Ziad Rahbani

By the roar of the bus we travelled
from the village of Himlaya to the village of Tannurin
and I remembered you, Alia
and remembered your eyes
and God forgive you, Alia
what beautiful eyes you have.

A Banquet Song - Alcæus of Mytilene

The rain of Zeus descends, and from high heaven
          A storm is driven:

A True Story of Daily Life - Hans Manz

My next-door neighbour,

a Chinese guy from Hong Kong,

sweeps, whenever he reaches for his broom,

A Parrot in a Cage (Pinjarako Suga) - Lekhnath Paudyal

A pitiful, twice-born* child called parrot,
I have been trapped in a cage,
Even in my dreams, Lord Shiva,
I find not a grain of peace or rest.

Out In A Downpour - Mirabai

Out in a downpour
in a sopping wet
skirt.

The Way of the Cross - Hallgrim Petursson

The pathway of Thy Passion
To follow I desire;

Inaugurating The Garden - Forugh Farrokhzad

The crow that soared
above our heads and plunged
into a vagrant cloud’s restless thoughts,
its voice a short spear travelling horizon’s length,
will carry the news of us to town.