Any Night – Philip Levine

Look, the eucalyptus, the Atlas pine,
the yellowing ash, all the trees
are gone, and I was older than
all of them. I am older than the moon,
than the stars that fill my plate,
than the unseen planets that huddle
together here at the end of a year
no one wanted. A year more than a year,
in which the sparrows learned
to fly backwards into eternity.
Their brothers and sisters saw this
and refuse to build nests. Before
the week is over they will all
have gone, and the chorus of love
that filled my yard and spilled
into my kitchen each evening
will be gone. I will have to learn
to sing in the voices of pure joy
and pure pain. I will have to forget
my name, my childhood, the years
under the cold dominion of the clock
so that this voice, torn and cracked,
can reach the low hills that shielded
the orange trees once. I will stand
on the back porch as the cold
drifts in, and sing, not for joy,
not for love, not even to be heard.
I will sing so that the darkness
can take hold and whatever
is left, the fallen fruit, the last
leaf, the puzzled squirrel, the child
far from home, lost, will believe
this could be any night. That boy,
walking alone, thinking of nothing
or reciting his favorite names
to the moon and stars, let him
find the home he left this morning,
let him hear a prayer out
of the raging mouth of the wind.
Let him repeat that prayer,
the prayer that night follows day,
that life follows death, that in time
we find our lives. Don’t let him see
all that has gone. Let him love
the darkness. Look, he’s running
and singing too. He could be happy.

The Breath Of Night – Randall Jarrell

The moon rises. The red cubs rolling
In the ferns by the rotten oak
Stare over a marsh and a meadow
To the farm’s white wisp of smoke.
A spark burns, high in heaven.
Deer thread the blossoming rows
Of the old orchard, rabbits
Hop by the well-curb. The cock crows
From the tree by the widow’s walk;
Two stars in the trees to the west,
Are snared, and an owl’s soft cry
Runs like a breath through the forest.
Here too, though death is hushed, though joy
Obscures, like night, their wars,
The beings of this world are swept
By the Strife that moves the stars.

Lonely Dreams – Uriah Hamilton

I meditate achingly
Her delicate lips
Slowly sipping
Elegant imported wine.maxresdefault

In lonely dreams, 
I weep at night
Wishing my hands
Were upon her hips.

Lovely flowers
Blossom in the afternoon; 
But while I linger
Unable to see her, 
Nothing can make me happy. 

Lonely – Pete LeMay

Lonely is the Heart that never knows true love.
Lonely is the Body never looked on from above.
Lonely is the Mind that lost it’s will to dream. feeling_lonely_large
Lonely is the Soul when no one hears it scream.

Lonely is the Heart that beats within the chest.
Lonely is the Body that soon lay down to rest.
Lonely is the Mind that has no place to go.
Lonely is the Soul that heaven does not know.

Lonely Heart, Body, Mind and Soul.

Always Football – Francis Duggan

Their worries in life would have to be small
For their main topic when they meet is always football
And what club this Season will win the premiership flag
And give their loyal fans the right for to brag
Every evening after work in their local pub on main street
For a chat and a few beers they are happy to meet
For to discuss the teams for the big weekend games
They know of the history of the clubs and the great football names
In the football season it does seem football is the big thing in their lives
Even more important to them than their children and girlfriends and wives
In the pub when their club win the club song they do sing
Football in their lives is the most important thing
And their worries in life would have to be small
When their main topic when they meet is always football. 

Football – Nassy Fesharaki

We are, both
-of same age
-old friends.

Our actions, behaviours
-are the banks of ocean
-world apart and unlike…

He is a couch-potato
-stares at screen
-days and nights
-and dreams of football.

Observer is he who
-in this way kills the time.

I, always on the run…

He, haunted by cancer
-I resist and fight it.

Oh Tenzing – Shrawan Mukarung

ओ तेन्जिङ !
मैले यो प्रेमको पहाड कहिले नाघ्ने होला ?

जति चड्दैजान्छु पहाड अग्लिँदै जान्छ
बिसाउँन खोज्छु सूर्जे भाग्दै–भाग्दै जान्छ
प्रिय–सपनाको बिहान कसलाई माग्ने होला
ओ तेन्जिङ !
मैले यो प्रेमको पहाड कहिले नाघ्ने होला ?

मेरो उचाईभित्र आकाशको सत्य छैन
प्रेमजस्तै अमर रहने मलाई अधिकार छैन
प्रिय–विपनाको गुहार कसरी माग्ने होला
ओ तेन्जिङ !
मैले यो प्रेमको पहाड कहिले नाघ्ने होला ?

Harayeko Mero Manchhe – Shrawan Mukarung

हराएको मेरो मान्छे
तिमी एकदिन जरुर आउँछौ
पिरतीको अर्थ के हो ?
त्यही बेला थाहा पाउँछौ ।

कति भाग्यो चन्द्रमा यो
पृथिवीलाई रुवाएर
तर साँझ आउँछ फेरि
लाखौँ दीप जलाएर
एकान्तमा वेदनाको
माला जब तिमी लाउँछौ
पिरतीको अर्थ के हो
त्यही बेला थाहा पाउँछौ

जहाँ जाऊ जता पुग
भेटिने त उही मान्छे
मानिसकै अनुरोगले
बाँधिएको हुन्छ मान्छे
सम्झनाको कुनै मोडमा
जतिखेर तिमी धाउँछौ
पिरतीको अर्थ के हो
त्यहीबेला थाहा पाउँछौ ।

Samundra Budho – Shrawan Mukarung

लालटिन लिएर आउँनेछ– त्यहाँ…

लामो दाह्री
चहकिला आँखा
र हातमा रातो किताब देखेर
तिमी उसलाई मार्क्स सम्झिन्छौ

सिरानीको बन्दुक आँसुको फूलले छोपिनेछ
नरिवलको गाछीभरि
रेट्न थाल्नेछ भ्वाइलिन– दुःखको
खस्न थाल्नेछन् चन्द्रमाका हातहरू– टाढाको बस्तीमा
तिमी उठ्नेछौ ।

Hope – Krantol Northic

Hope is the sweet, sweet scent
of flowers in the morning
Hope is the cool gentle breeze
on a warm summer’s day
Hope is the knowledge of stability
from a son in mourning
Hope is the bright shining light
keeping darkness at bay

Hope is the calming warmth
during a cold winter
Hope is the determination
of an athelete on the track
Hope is the potential
of a newborn baby
Hope is the love
between you and me

Hope springs eternal

Hope – Jodi Right

Sigh not for there is hope
Doubt not because it is there
Just seek it
Let thy eye wander far
Just touch it
Let thy hands lay softly
Just live it
Let thy heart fill the cold
And conquer
Laugh in joy not in cruelness
Cry always but not in pain
Sing tunes for the far
And Dance for the near
Wonder not
Because hope never dies

Twelve Years – Paul Celan

The line
that remained, that
became true: . . . your
house in Paris — become
the alterpiece of your hands.

Breathed through thrice,
shone through thrice.

It’s turning dumb, turning deaf
behind our eyes.
I see the poison flower
in all manner of words and shapes.

Go. Come.
Love blots out its name: to
you it ascribes itself.

The Poles – Paul Celan

The Poles
are within us,
while Awake,
we sleep across, to the Gate
of Mercy,

I lose you to you, that
is my Snow-Comfort,

say, that Jerusalem is,

say, as if I were this
your Whiteness,
as if you were

as if without us we could be we,

I open your leaves, forever,

you bless, you bed
us free.