All-Pervading Poetry (Kavitako Vyapti) - Balkrishna Sama

Picking up a huge basket, a holy man

ventured out to the forest to gather poetry.

Through hills and streams, pastures and fields,

he searched every waterfall, fruit and bush,

but nowhere could he find it,

so he decided such things were out of season,

at a loss he had set off home

when he came upon an aesthete.

Book of Arda Viraf, Part II, Chapter 3 - Anonymous

And the soul of Viraf went, from the body, to the Chinwad bridge of Chakat-i-Daitik, 

and came back the seventh day, and went into the body. 

Viraf rose up, as if he arose from a pleasant sleep, thinking of Vohuman and joyful.

Magic Suitcase - Shahnaz A'lami

I took with me a suitcase,

light, very light,

Two or three sets of baby clothes,

A white georgette dress,

An indistinct photograph of my mother,

wearing a headdress,

Alone? - Mary Electa Adams

The sunlight through the open door

Comes in, and streams along the floor,

The slant rays of a falling August sun

Well-nigh throughout its sultry circuit run;

And hushed is every sound of breeze or leaf or bird,

Save the low trill of insects, past the lattice heard,

        In the dry grass

        As the hours pass.

Kathmandu - Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Every morning in my bathroom, 

I submerge myself in meditation, 

cleanse my bowels

and attain fresh and anew.

I flush out all the dirt and dust

through the drainage

to the distant flowing river.

My darling, we sat together - Heinrich Heine

My darling, we sat together,

We two, in our frail boat;

The night was calm o'er the wide sea

Whereon we were afloat.

 

those who stitch - Tikum Azonga

I've done stitching all my life

I've stitched maths and even Einstein

Africa - Albert Chitsanzo

Dangling the follies of crossfire

Casting the mystery of presidential elections

An Address to the River of Creation - Anonymous

O thou River, who didst create all things, 

When the great gods dug thee out, 

They set prosperity upon thy banks, 

The Quest for Joy in a Modern World - Taiwo Hassan

these days, i’m a china on the tip of a cupboard,

one push away from breaking, peace in pieces.

i see the shattered shards already, a vessel after vertigo,

that split second of silence, i perceive the flames in me.