A Record on the Doorstep - Augustin Tin Ujević

These poems - it's not me,
even though I wrote them.
These moans, it's not me,
though I really sighed them.

The dust was here first - Vivian Tjijandjeua Ojo

The dust was here first
Mothers came to tend to the dust
and absorbed its clay shades for their skin.

Laura’s Sunday - Ndue Ukaj

In her city there is a ruined cathedral
in the midst of ruins
its choir is missing
and there is an “Ave Maria” song.
On the road edges, stones relieve pain
only the choir traces are together with dry
flower bouquets
There are many dogs, and trash.

Vondel's Lucifer (Act II, lines 493-538) - Joost van den Vondel

Chorus of Angels:
Strophe.
How glares the noble front of Heaven!
Why streams the holy light so red
Upon our face, overspread
With mournful mists from darkness driven?

Mass grave - Lia Cachim

They die by the thousands —
and the cars march on
the graves the shrines
in a sluggish rush
as if pretending
that funeral elegies might serve
for more than kindling
for the fire

Can I try to sing a song - Omar García Ramírez

Can I try to sing a song in the midst of our shipwreck?
Or will it be thrown into the storm of silence?
An image?
A voice?

Yo Yu - Luisa Igloria

"Have fish."
  —Chinese saying

Today, the streets flooded and ceilings leaked,
mercurial.  On TV, firemen waded through apartments

VI - Ryner Lai

Tenuously tethered leaves,
Feed the thirsty soil.

A sleepless night - Maksym Rylsky

It’s stifling, quiet and dark everywhere,
The darkness strangles me, an evil darkness,
The bright world is gone... Where are you, people,
Where have you disappeared? You’re gone, all gone...

Free from bondage - Bahlakoana Mothobi

They came with chains, with iron and lies,
Their greed reflected in hollow eyes.
The ocean roared, the ships stood tall,
Yet sorrow wailed above them all.