કબૂલાત આદિલ...

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No part of this book can be used without the

permission of contributors and the publisher.


1. : (Gujarati)…………………………………………………4

2. আছি : (Bengali)…………………………………………………….5

3. Inferno : Ibrahim Honjo (Serbo- Croatian)………………………………………7

4. I giardini di Gaza : Vito Intini (Italian)……………………………………………8

5. Time is over : Hilal Karahan (English)…………………………………………….15

6. (Haryanvi)……………………………………………………………………………..16

7. Una mujer con un sol en el vientre : Patricia Temple (Spanish)…………..17

8. 單株桐一面湖 : 蔡澤民 (Chinese)………………………………………18

9. Sonrosado por la pena : Yuri Zambrano (Spanish)……………………………20

10.Inconsciencia : Luz Maria Lopez (Spanish)…………………………………….22

11. ' ' : ' ' (Hindi)…………………………………………….23

12. Brasil : Eliane Potiguara (Portuguese)…………………………………………..24

13. Poema a una niña y su muñeca de palo: William Perez Vega

(Spanish)…………………………………………… ………………………………………….26

14. Alas cuatro : Virginia Pasalo……………………………………………………….28

15. ΠΑΡΑΔΕΙΣΟΥ ΔΙΑΔΡΟΜΕΣ : Rania Angelakoudi (Greek)……………..29

16. : Subhrajyoti Parida……………………………………………31

INDEX


- . .

,

. ,

જ જ , જ જ . .

CONFESSION

-Adil Mansuri

Translated by Pradip N. Khandwalla

Yes I confess I am a spy.

Changing my name to learn the dark secrets of silence

I wander here

in disguise. Sit I sometimes

as an ascetic

amongst the ruins of meter pretending starvation

I wander in rhythm’s eatery-lanes.

Leave clues

among haiku’s seventeen letters, and given a chance

I whisper

in the ears of gazal. I crawl into the hollow

of each flat word for perusal;

and soon as anyone gets suspicious chew up and swallow whole

the maps of meaning.

Yes, I admit I am an undercover agent.

Gujarati


- আছি বলললও চললব জানালায় দাাঁছিলয় গুছন মমৌমাছি ছির স্তব্ধ মকূ অছস্তত্ব মকউ কাললা, মকউ সাদা এ বাছি আর ওবাছি মকউ পূলবর, মকউ বললনা কতদরূ মকান সীমানার আমরা- ওই মমলয়রা বাঙাছল ছবহাছর সাাঁওতাছল মনপাছল তাছমল ওছিয়া সব মিলি এলসছি এঘলর মকাঁ লদ, মার মেলয় উলপালস মহলর, উছিলয় সব মিলি মালয়র মপশায়- ছবছিতা ম ৌবন ছিতা আমালজান ব্রাছজললর নদী নই তবওু আছি

জজজ র মলাহার োাঁচা এক মর মর কছব োলনক দলুরর সপ্ন মদলে মজািাসাাঁলকা, ছসগালরলের ম াাঁয়া কললমর কাছল, আর ফ্যাকালশ রক্ত দীঘজশ্বালসর সুলে মবাঁলচ থাকা গান মস মললে আর আমালদর দয়ুালর মোাঁলজ তার হারালনা মেয়সী মালে মালে হাছস- েন মস বলল আমালকই চায় এই ভাঙ্গা মোাঁয়ালি

সন্ধ্যাদীলপর নােক ছসাঁদরু পলর জানালায় তেন বাতাস বাতালস কাললা আকাশ আকাশ হলত

কান্না ভরা তারা েলর

উচ্ছাস মনই,, েহসন মনই, আসছক্ত মনই, আমার চুম্বন কালরা মপে ভলর আর কালরা মন আছি, এই ম আছি রক্তপলাশ, হাহাকালর কাললা আাঁ ার আর এক ফ্াছল পাথলর চাপা বকু ছনলয় আমরা আছি হাত লর

এই সুেময় সংসালর পলথর ালর দালাললর েস্রাব ারায় ছভলজ মছৃিকা, পুলযয মাো মসানাগাছি মকালকাতার ছহমঘলর মানষু নই, তবওু এ জীবন চলল আমরা আছি

Bengali


We Exist -Kanchan Bhattacharya

It is Ok to say we exist Standing at the window, counting

bees

Still, silent, dumb existence

Some are dark, some are fair This house, and that

Some from the East, some say

nothing From which faraway border

We came, the girls

Bengali, Bihari, Santhal Nepali, Tamil, Odisha

We have left all, and came into this

house Crying, beaten

Defeated in starvation, thrown all to

the winds

Sold to our mother’s profession Swollen breasts, that Amazon

From Brazil- we are not

But we exist

A rusting iron cage

A dying poet Dreams of a nearby place

Jorasanko, cigarette smoke

Of ink, faded blood In the happiness of long sighs

He writes lyrics

And seeks at our doors His lost love

I laugh when he says He wants only me in this broken

cattle shed

At dusk, the lamp is lit, when I wear vermillion

The breeze in the window

The darkness in the breeze fills the sky

From the sky

A cavalcade of weeping stars

There is no joy, no sarcasm

No attraction, my kisses Fill someone’s hunger, and

someone’s heart

I exist, I exist here

A scarlet flower, in laments Black darkness, a millstone

Upon our breasts

We live, holding hands

In this happy world

By the roadside Upon the soil

Wet with the pimp’s urine

This is Sonagachhi The cold morgue of Kolkata

We are not human, though this life

goes on We exist…


INFERNO - Ibrahim Honđo

Plesali su, jeli, pili, pjevali kršio sam vlastite ruke kršio vlastite noge čupao kose, trgao uši grebao lice trgao sve što je bilo moje na kraju izvadio vlastite oči iščupao srce i bacio goropadnim zvjerima neka se na kraju zaslade dao sam im svu svoju krv poludjelu da žeđ utole bili su halapljivi i musavi kao mala izgladnjela djeca poslije čokoladnog obroka i nije im bilo dosta htjeli su i moje kosti onako obnažene i bez srži taj dio mene je bio jak smijao se njihovoj pohlepi luđački jezivo u jednom jedinom kriku mahala se pretvorila u eho zvjeri se pretvorile u klupka koja su se kotrljala u neke sporedne ulice moj kostur je postao goropadno strašilo tako je prestalo bezumlje mahala je napokon odahnula i mirno utonula u san a mene je probudio ovaj užas proglasio sam ga Honđinim infernom

INFERNO -Ibrahim Honjo

They danced, ate, drank, sang

I broke my own hands Broke my own feet

Plucked my hair and ears

Scratched my face Broke everything what was mine

Eventually, I gouged my eyes out

Took out my heart And threw it in front of raging

beasts

And allowed it to sweeten

I gave them all my insane blood

Quenched their thirst

They were greedy and dirty As small starving children

After a chocolate dessert

And it wasn’t enough to them They wanted my bones too

Naked and without a soul

That part of me was strong And laughed at their greed

Insanely, creepy in one single cry Mahalla has turned into an echo

Beasts have turned into balls

Rolled down side streets My skeleton has become an unruly

scarecrow

So I stopped this madness

Mahalla was finally breathing more easily

And I peacefully drifted away to

sleep Then woke up from this horror

And declared it Honjo’s inferno.

Serbo- Croatian

Language Insights : Serbo Croation is a south Slavic language. Serbo-Croatian is also a second language of many Slovenians and Macedonians, especially those born during the time of Yugoslavia. Serbo-Croatian and its variants have the largest number of speakers in Slovenia.


I giardini di Gaza

-Vito Intini

Piccole nuvole rosa i palloncini si

alzano

Nell’aria greve ancora di zolfo e di

ceneri

Tutt’intorno tondini di ferro contorti

Una dura pioggia è caduta dal cielo

Le Case gli asili le scuole i cortili

Gli ospedali

Cancellati per sempre

Da ruspe giganti

Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa.

Verresti a giocare con noi

Nei nostri giardini a Gaza?

Bambino di Parigi, bambino di Roma

Bambino Berlinese, bambino Londinese

Verresti a giocare con noi in giardino?

Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa

Nuvole nere pioggia di fuoco

Luci abbaglianti boati assordanti

Sopra di noi sopra i nostri crani

inebetiti

Non sono giochi pirotecnici

Non è una festa con ricchi cotillons

Games of fire in the garden!

Kinders of fire in the garden!

Fiamme divoranti, boati, fame e orrida

Sete e sangue da morte che urla

Vorace di buio nei labirinti senza luce

Sale nei denti occhi svuotati

Nei giardini di Gaza ci sono, le vedo

A stormi le gazze e i corvi tutti neri

Per l’ultimo volo prima del

Cielo gli ultimi corvi nel grano

Marcito prima dello schianto

La rosa è sfiorita la rosa è recisa

Farina verminata voragini d’abisso i

cuori

Scoppiati gli amori divelti

Reciso ogni fiore e le speranze e i giochi

Disseccata ogni ombra di rugiada

A tondo a tondo nei giardini

Di Gaza la bella, di Gaza l’antica

Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa

La nobile aurora si copre

Le guance arrossate di pianto

Italian


Centinaia di angeli massacrati

Con le donne la madri le figlie

I loro occhi svuotati raccolgono

Versi mai scritti versi perduti

Per sempre come le loro fresche vite.

La triste Aurora dalle dita di rosa

Ma non sono

I bambini la ricchezza del mondo?

È il futuro stesso che respira

E si rincorre vociando nei vicoli

Angusti delle antiche città

I figli dei poveri si sa che si adattano

A tutto e giocano con tutto, anche coi

razzi

Inesplosi, alla guerra ad acchiapparsi

Oppure a nascondino fra le macerie

Fra i rifiuti fra i muri sbrecciati

Dall’incuria della miseria

Dalle cannonate dei figli dei ricchi.

Uno a dieci uno a cento uno a mille.

Volano i petali della rosa

Al vento polveroso di cemento

I ricchi sanno contare meglio ma

Sbagliano il conto finale,

I conti non tornano, non ami,

I conti non tornano mai.

La rosa muta, la rosa disperata

Nei giardini a Gaza i bambini

Giocano al funerale dei bambini

Avvolti nelle bandierine di Palestina

I bambini di Gaza imitano

L’acre urlo delle madri

La rosa appassisce se l’amore perisce

Dacci oggi la nostra morte quotidiana

Il sangue innocente innaffia

La mia tristezza per i giochi

Distrutti nei Giardini di Gaza

La mia tristezza,

Chi sanerà la mia tristezza?

Ogni rondine al suolo

Le ali come petali secchi

Il tempo è dalla parte dei bambini

Il Talmud lo afferma: il respiro

Stesso dei bambini regge la terra.

Il respiro dei bambini come Atlante.

La rosa rinasce così vuole Proserpina

Rinasce irrorata dalla dolce rugiada

Ogni petalo risorge coi crochi gentili

E i fiori del melo, del pesco e del

giuggiolo

Nel silenzio protetto dalle querce in

fondo


Al nostro giardino, così sarà di nuovo

Sappiamo, tutti lo sanno, così come

Rinascono all’alba i bambini di Gaza

I loro vagiti saranno più forti dei boati

Delle bombe che spruzzano gelo di

morte

Dal cielo

La rosa indisturbata diffonde dolci

aromi

Lo scempio abita indisturbato

Nel fertile solco dell’inconoscenza

Del limite fra la mia fortuna

E la nascita delle albe per ogni dove.

Così mi dicesti. Ma noi avevamo

Lo sguardo fisso altrove, lontano

Da ogni soffio di tenero pioppo.

L’assalto ci prendeva e l’urlo

Della quotidiana rissa dei corpi.

Piove, finalmente eccoti finalmente

Pioggia odorosa sopra ogni cosa

È buono per i tre alberini che abbiamo

Piantato nei nostri giardini

Tutt’intorno alla casa

Ieri pomeriggio

Il pesco il pero e il giùggiolo

Prima d’andare a Istanbul

Cinque giorni a danzare con le muse

Ci sono vicoli ciechi in cui non c'è da

sostare

Un minuto di più dopo aver compreso,

Dopo aver appreso dell'ombra

Delle cose la muta consegna

La rosa buia la rosa incompresa

Io vengo dai boschi di lecci

Della Murgia dei trulli e delle grotte

Amavo perdermi per ore con gli occhi

Attento ad ogni segno che mi indicasse

La presenza di funghi o di tane di ricci

La profumata rosa prima di ogni altra

cosa

Grata al primo sole e alle gocce di

rugiada

A sedici anni dovevano essere altrove

A studiare Platone e a leggere Hikmet

E a sognare del loro dolcissimo amore

O Kemal o Naftalì maledetto sia

Chi ha rubato per sempre il sole dei

giorni

E il sorriso del fratello e della madre.


Gardens of Gaza

-Vito Intini

Translated by Giuliano Corti and Nicholas Hunt

Balloons rise like little pink clouds

Into the still air heavy with ash and

sulphur

Twisted iron rods lie all about

A harsh rain has fallen from the sky

Houses kindergarten schools

courtyards

Hospitals

Wiped out forever

By giant diggers

May the rose bloom upon those.

Would you play with us

In our Gaza gardens?

Child of Paris, child of Rome

Child of Berlin, child of London

would you

Come play with us in the garden?


Dark clouds flaming rain

Dazzling lights deafening blasts

Above us above over our dazed

skulls

These are no fireworks

It’s not a party with rich gifts

Games of fire in the garden!

Kinders of fire in the garden!

Devouring flames, blasts, hunger

Horrid thirst and bloody scream of

the dying

Greedy for darkness in the lightless

labyrinths

Salt in the teeth emptied eyes

In the gardens of Gaza there are, I

see

Magpies and black blacks crows in

flocks

For the last flight before the sky

The last crows amid the ears

Rotted before the crash

The rose is withered the rose is cut

Worm-eaten flour abysmal chasms

the hearts

Bursting loves uprooted

Each flower severed with hopes and

games


Dried all shades of dew

Rounded and round the gardens

Of beautiful Gaza, of ancient Gaza.


The noble dawn covers

Its cheeks flushed with weeping

Hundreds of angels butchered

With the women mothers and

daughters

Their emptied eyes collect

Verses never written poems lost

Forever just as their young lives.

The gloomy rosy-fingered Dawn

But are not the children

The wealth of the world?

They are our breathing future

Running and shouting down the

narrow alleys

Of the ancient towns

The children of the poor used to

everything

Playing with anything, even with

unexploded rockets,

And catch war

Or play hide-and-seek amid the

rubble

Amid the waste and the walls

ravaged

By careless poverty

And the cannon shots of the sons of

the rich.

One to ten one to a hundred one to

a thousand.

The rose petals float

On the concrete dust breeze

The rich can count better

But the final count’s wrong,

It doesn’t add up mon ami,

It never adds up.

The dumb rose, the desperate rose

In the gardens of Gaza the children

Play at children’s funeral

Wrapped in small Palestinian flags

The children of Gaza imitate

the mothers’ bitter cries

The rose wilts if love dies

Give us this day our daily death

The innocent blood bathes my

sadness

For the wrecked games

in the gardens of Gaza

My sorrow!

Who will heal my sorrow?

Swallows has wings on the ground

like dried petals


Time is on the children’s side

Talmud says: the children’s

Breath supports the earth.

A child’s breath like Atlas.

The rose is reborn so Proserpina

wills

Reborn under the sweet dew’s spray

Each petal revives with graceful

crocuses

And the apple, peach and jujube

blossoms

In the silence cradled by the oaks

At the end of the garden, so it will be

again

We know, we all know, as

The children of Gaza are reborn at

dawn

Their cries will be louder than the

blasts

Than the bombs that spray their

frosty death

From the sky

The rose undisturbed spreads its

sweet aromas

he waste lives on undisturbed

In the fertile furrow of unawareness

Of the boundary between my luck

And the birth of sun everywhere.

So you told me. But we had

Our gaze elsewhere, away

From the breath of the feathery

poplar.

The assault took us and the scream

Of the daily battle of bodies.

It's raining finally, here you are

Sweet smelling rain over everything

Is good for the three trees that we

have

Planted in our gardens

All around the house

Yesterday afternoon

The peach the pear and the jujube

Before going to Istanbul

five days to dance with the muses

There are dead ends where we must

no loiter

One minute more after

understanding,

After learning the mute command

From the shadow of things

The dark rose the misconstrued rose

I come from the oak woods

From the Murgia of trulli and caves

I loved to lost myself for hours, my

watchful

Gaze alert to any sign that might

reveal


The presence of mushrooms or

hedgehog dens

The fragrant rose before all those

Grateful for the first sun and dew

drops

At sixteen they should have been

elsewhere

Studying Plato and reading Hikmet

And dreaming of their sweet love

O Kemal o Naftali cursed be

Who forever stole the sun of the day

And the smile of brother and

mother.

Language Insights : Italian is a major European language, one of the working languages of the Council of Europe. It is the third most widely spoken first language in the European Union with 65 million native speakers. The standard Italian language has a poetic and literary origin in the writings of Tuscan writers of the 12th century, and, even though the grammar and core lexicon are basically unchanged from those used in Florence in the 13th century, the modern standard of the language was largely shaped.


Time is over

-Hilal Karahan

1/

Time is over… movement

hastily collected the streets

to bring at home;

Scattered with the Gaze,

images… figures… those curses

dancing in the mirror of attention

have revived

Being tired of confrontation

to rancor and insolvency,

the civilization, this carrion bazaar,

comminuted the cities

and made their dust fly to sky!

Universe blenched from this fury,

kneeled down on its dark prayer

rug,

faithfully turning prayer bids of

objects

to beginning:

—Let’s wait… wait…

: waiting is safe.

2/

Time is over… the cloth of presence

wrinkled, perceptions and

judgments mixed together;

Were the skies metal, what was

melting

and flooding in doomsday, through

fire balls and pouring in front of

guards of earth like colorful wools?

Fearful because of its wings,

as if a silly bird,

human, waiting inside ego cage,

how can be a remembered thing?

Suspicions, the bone migs

rolling inside the skull,

spoiled both rights and faiths

3/

Time is over… you were a hidden

treasure, you wish to be seen,

neither known nor seen

There was so much secret

so many you we would see

if we waited with patience

We shaked your delicacy

you are really made of

instead we loved your shell

4/

Time is over…

English


-

, ए , .

, , , , , . .

, , ,ए ए । उ ए , । . .

, , उ , ।।

Hariyanvi


Una mujer con un sol en el

vientre

Patricia Temple

Estiro lentamente mis extremidades de potranca,

alzo mi fino cuello de cisne,

despliego las alas, sacudo febril el polvo del invierno

levantando una polvareda alrededor.

A la primera corriente, emprendo vuelo

Al viento,

Mis alas crecen poderosas,

sobrevuelo primero mis malecones aquellos de belleza pura,

donde aprendí a amar

Quebradas estrechas, De tiempos felices,

Cuando la libertad era nuestra,

el tiempo infinito. Planeo bajito casi al ras del mar,

me embriago de la brisa y el mar,

Océano mío azul, rotundo, bordado de espuma

Como sonrisas de niñas,

Las olas aplauden la arena en un

rítmico vaivén. Retorno a casa,

El alma henchida,

A espera el verano. Mañana volaré más lejos.

A woman with a sun on her

belly

Patricia Temple

Translated by Luz Maria Lopez

Slowly I stretch my filly limbs,

raise my graceful swam neck,

unfold the wings,

shake the feverish winter dust

lifting a huge stir around.

At the first stream,

I undertake a flight

towards the wind,

my wings grow powerful,

I overfly first my waterfronts

those of pure beauty,

where I learnt to love

narrow gorges,

from happy times,

when freedom was ours,

the infinite time.

I glide low almost to the sea level,

get drunken from the breeze and

sea,

ocean blue mine, rotund,

embroidered by froth

like girls’ smiles,

the waves applaud the sand in a

rhythmic swing.

I return home,

the soul distended,

awaiting the summer.

Tomorrow I'll fly farther.

Spanish


單株桐一面湖

- 蔡澤民

白花落地一路

雙手捧滿滿

彎彎掩掩之中難不已成迷宮

直到湖面靜靜出現滿荷

個個開口岸邊笑著

白桐獨伴單株孤影

滿山的桐都是叢叢密密無一落單

唯獨這株

或許看準了湖邊的幽

不介意荷花嘲弄

或許愛上了湖裏小魚的

鬼靈精怪味兒

遺世獨立在這兒一百萬年了

倒影孤獨得像座搖曳的塔

只是塔兒不開花而牠

沒錯過一年恣意讓白花滿樹

總在五月之後

分離雙手送花兒入池

樹底下安然地坐

靜地像極

那對互望的豆娘不忍離去

Chinese


Solitude along the lake shore

- Tze-Min Tsai

White flowers all the way to the

ground

Hands full

Bending into a maze of hard to cover

Until the lake appears quietly dotted

with lotus

All openings on the shore with a

smile

Paulownia alone with that lonely

shadow

Tree, full of the whole mountain, all

are dense clusters

No one was isolated

Except it

Perhaps

Sighted the elegance belongs to the

lake

Do not mind that mockery of lotus

Perhaps

Fell in love with the small fish in the

lake

Ghost spirit fine look

Left alone here for a million years

That reflection like a swaying tower

But the tower does not bloom

And it

Did not miss a year wanton white

flowers full tree

In short after May

Separate hands to send flowers into

the pool

Safely sit under the tree

Like a polar

That pair of damselflies looking at

each other

Can’t bear to leave.


Sonrosado por la pena

-Yuri Zombrano

Estaba cierto día... Un café.

Sí. Una semilla de café, expuesta al

sol, Sonriente

Impasible

Llana,

casi inaniquilable.

Estaba la semilla riendo,

según cuentan los de le molienda porque gracias a su color

esta vez, en la sopa, habría más

sabor.

Un día llegaron ellos,

tres hombres de aspecto — qué sé yo —

aspecto, simplemente aspecto.

De un sablazo le quitaron la sonrisa.

Le explicaron que sí, que en efecto,

el mundo daba vueltas

pero que la semilla de un café daba muy mal ejemplo.

Primero porque se desnudaba

segundo porque era obscena

erótica incitante

lasciva

subliminal Tercero:

porque estar dividida,

era la primera piedra para crear conflictos en la vida.

Desde ese día

la semilla del café se puso tan roja que la piel anda de sombra en

sombra

tratando de apagar la pena

que lleva por dentro.

Spanish


There was some day ... a single coffee. -Yuri Zombrano

Yes! A simple coffee bean

Exposed to the sun, Smiling

Impassive

Plentiful, Almost indestructible.

It was this lonely seed, laughing As normally say

Many workers on the field

Who are constantly grinding-coffee

beans Because thanks to the colour of

these seeds

The lunch would be delicious again.

One day they came,

Three men looking - What do I know -

Look, just looking as simple aspect.

A cutting saber took away its smile.

They explained: Yes… well you know, That in effect …

The world was spinning But a coffee bean

Was a very bad example for

societies.

First of all

Because the coffee bean was

permanently undressed

Second, because it was obscene

erotic Alluring

Lascivious

Subliminal

Third:

Because being divided, It was the first stone

To create conflicts in life.

Since that day The coffee seed is so red

And its skin goes from shadow to

shadow Trying to put off the shame

That always is carrying inside.


Inconsciencia

-Luz María López

encarna un apego

esta anarquía de mi alma puesto que te sostengo amado

como nube a punto de llover

tan intemporal sobre el cielo habiéndole permitido a tu alma

tirar de mí con fuertes vientos

sobre el límite de mí misma, tal alucinación en plena florescencia

mas el amor siempre lanza un grito,

y la rosa roja sucumbe resucitando en elipsis

de fuego y días idos

- ensoñamiento carnal - resistente pero frágil

ajeno a la inconsciencia.

Oblivion -Luz María López

It means endearment

This anarchy of my soul

For I hold you dearest Like a cloud about to rain

Yet so timeless over the sky

For I allowed your soul To pull me with strong winds

Over the limit of myself,

As full bloom hallucination.

Yet love always sparks a cry, And the red rose succumbs

Resuscitating in ellipsis

Of fire and days gone - A carnal reverie-

Resilient yet fragile

Unaware of oblivion.

Spanish

Language Insights : In Spain and in some other parts of the Spanish-speaking

world, Spanish is called castellano as well as ESPAÑOL The first systematic written use of Spanish happened in Toledo, then capital of the Kingdom of Castile, in the 13th century. Beginning in the early 16th century, Spanish was taken to the colonies of the Spanish Empire as well as territories in Africa, Oceania and the Philippines.


' '

- ' '

ए ए उ औ ' ' औ ओ ..... औ ' '..... ....!!!!

Hindi


BRASIL

-Eliane Potiguara Que faço com a minha cara de índia ?

E meus cabelos E minhas rugas

E minha história

E meus segredos ?

Que faço com a minha cara de índia

?

E meus espíritos

E minha força

E meu Tupã E meus círculos ?

Que faço com a minha cara de índia ?

E meu Toré E meu sagrado

E meus "cabôcos"

E minha Terra

Que faço com a minha cara de índia ?

E meu sangue

E minha consciência E minha luta

E nossos filhos ?

Brasil, o que faço com a minha cara

de índia ?

Não sou violência Ou estupro

Eu sou história

Eu sou cunhã Barriga brasileira

Ventre sagrado

Povo brasileiro

Ventre que gerou

O povo brasileiro Hoje está só ...

A barriga da mãe fecunda

E os cânticos que outrora cantavam

Hoje são gritos de guerra Contra o massacre imundo

Portuguese

Language Insights : The Portuguese language is the third most spoken western language (after English and Spanish). There are about 240 million native speakers, including the people of Portugal, Brazil and Cape Verde. It was originally a dialect of Latin with some traces of old Celtic, spoken in the Kingdom of Galicia. .


BRASIL

-Eliane Potiguara

Translated by Luz Maria Lopez

What do I do with my Indian face?

And my hair,

And my wrinkles,

And my story,

And my secrets?


And my spirits,

And my strength,

And my Tupá

And my circles?


And my Toré,

And my sacred,

And my "cabocos",

And my land?


And my blood,

And my conscience,

And my struggle,

And our children?

Brasil, what do I do with my Indian face?

Not its violence

Or abuse

I am history

I am lineage,

Brasilian belly,

Holy womb,

Brasilian people.

Womb that generated

The Brasilian people

Nowadays alone...

The fertile belly of my mother

And the chants that once were sung

Are today the cries of war

Against the massacre of the world.

* Tupá – God

* Toré – ritual practice

* cabocos – mestizos or raciallay mixed

* cuña - lineage


POEMA A UNA NIÑA Y SU MUÑECA DE PALO (que muy bien puede ser palestina) -William Pérez Vega

Ojitos buenos,

pero lejanos que se me escapan

desde las nanas

que hay en mi abrazo

y contra el pecho de ojos descalzos

solo le queda

una muñeca seca de palo

porque del cielo

baja una lluvia de fuegos malos

y queman todo

desde la risa hasta el encanto,

las nanas dulces

y aquel regazo

donde retozan sus ojos mansos.

A esa niñita, mi niña buena

dile muñeca

seca de palo cuánto la quiero,

cuánto la amo

porque me mira dentro del alma

donde le guardo

flor de ternuras,

versos y cantos para que un día

diga sonrisa

y con mi niña

que adoro tanto,

haga un ejército

de la alegría para plantarlo

en los jardines

de la justicia donde retoce

su rostro santo

y el universo

tal vez aprenda tu mismo abrazo.

Spanish


POEM TO A GIRL AND HER WOODEN DOLL (Which might very well be Palestinian) William Pérez Vega Trasnlated by Luz Maria Lopez

Virtuous eyes, Yet aloof

That escape from me

Since the lullabies Held in my embrace

And against the chest

Of bare eyes She only has gotten

A doll

Of dried wood

For from the sky Down goes a rain

Of ill-fated fires

And burns everything From the laughter

To the enchanted,

The sweet songs And that lap

Where her docile

Eyes romp.

To that little girl,

My good girl Name her

Dry wooden doll How much I cherish her,

How much I love her

Because she looks at me Inside my soul

Where I keep her

Tenderness flower, Verses and chants

So that one day

She utters a smile

And with my girl Which I adore,

Built an army

Of joy To plant it

In the gardens

Of justice Where her holy face

Could frolic

And the universe Might possibly learn

You’re very same

Embrace.


Alas cuatro

-Virginia Pasalo Kabangobangon ko ni labat alikas ko lay angob mo ambalingit, sariwa kapanlukas ya rosas ed dayat agto ni anta su pansumpalan to umpatey no ngarem

Four oçlock

I woke up with your smell fragrant, fresh radiant newly-opened a flower from the sea unaware of its own destiny death in the afternoon.

Pangasinan

Language Insights : The Pangasinan is one of the major language of the Phillipines. The language is also called as Pangasinense, which is taken from the Spanish language. Pangasinan was preserved and kept alive despite the propagation of the Spanish and English languages. Written Pangasinan and oral literature in this language flourished during the Spanish and American period. Writers like Juan Saingan, Felipe Quintos, Narciso Corpus, Antonio Solis, Juan Villamil, Juan Mejía and María C. Magsano continued to write and publish in Pangasinan.


ΠΑΡΑΔΕΙΣΟΥ ΔΙΑΔΡΟΜΕΣ

- Rania Angelakoudi

Πέταξε το πνεύμα ψηλά

πήγε στου παραδείσου την πλευρά

τρέχουνε γάργαρα νερά

και οι μούσες πλέκουνε φωλιά!

Έκανα της Οδύσσειας διαδρομές,

συνάντησα Σειρήνες πολλές!

Από του παραδείσου τ’ όνειρο

θέλανε να βγω

στις Συμπληγάδες για να μπω!

Κι έγιναν φίλοι τ’ άσπρα περιστέρια,

και με οδήγησαν στ’ αστέρια!

έμειναν σύμφωνοι οι θεοί

να ευλογήσουν αυτή τη ΓΗ!

Ότι θα πιάνουν θνητών τα χέρια

θα τ’ αγκαλιάζουν Ολύμπια

περιστέρια!

κι όταν η φλόγα του πνεύματος

ανάψει

τούτη η ΓΗ σε παράδεισο θ’ αλλάξει!

παντού θ’ ανθήσουν κλαδιά ειρήνης

όλοι παιδιά της μάνας γης

παντού χρώματα και ακουαρέλες

των αδελφών οι πινελιές.

τότε το τέρας θα σιγήσει,

οι μελωδίες θ’ ακουστούν

άλλα μάτια δεν θα κλείσουν

ούτε οι άρπες θα σιωπούν!

όλα τα χέρια μαζί θα σφίξουν

και τα κορμιά θα ενωθούν,

για την ζωή θα πολεμήσουν

και στον Παράδεισο θα ζουν !

Greek

Language Insights : Greek has been spoken in the Balkan peninsula since around the 3rd millennium BC,or possibly earlier. The earliest written evidence is a Linear B Clay tablet found in Messenia that dates to between 1450 and 1350 BC, making Greek the world's Oldest recorded living language.


Paradise trail

- Rania Angelakoudi

My spirit soared high and tried

A place in paradise to find,

Where waters crystal-clear spring

And muses meet their nests to

weave!

I followed Ulysses’ trail,

And met sirens plenty along the

way!

They wanted me to leave

My paradise dream

The fate of the Clashing Rocks to

meet!

The white doves my friends became

And to the stars they led me

straight!

The Gods agreed and they decreed

This Land to bless and all within!

That which mortal hands should

touch

Will be embraced by Olympians

doves!

And when the torch of intellect

lights up

Then will this Land a paradise

become!

Olive branches will blossom all

around

Everyone a child of the earth,

Colors and hues the world will

crown

Brushstrokes applied by brotherly

hands.

Hands will clasp each other tight

Bodies in embrace will unite,

All will fight for life

And will live in paradise!


Aftermath…

-Subhrajyoti Parida

Drops of water pouring down, It’s wet and green here and there.

Flowers of joy have bloomed in town,

It’s celebration time everywhere.

Dry and hot, it was all the time,

Water was hard to find anywhere.

Plants died and animals too sometime, for Life without water was nowhere.

Some cried, it is wrath of God, I said we Men are so fool.

For our sin, we blame the Lord,

Who has made us with His tool.

Like father, like mother, He nurtured us,

gave us blue skies and drinking water.

For our need & greed, We destroyed each one of us, Let’s save them all, or His creations will soon shatter.

Man was a pride, not a mistake, for Lord felt, it was a decision so wise.

If so, let’s correct the mistake

before it becomes forever otherwise.

Trees then returned, birds chirped,

Flowers bloomed, fruits ripped,

We stand now on the ashes long burned, repenting on past sins, learning from the unlearned.

Clouds clashed, rains poured, Lips had prayed, now hearts rejoiced,

Man has now learnt, will remain now faithful,

to Mother Nature & her love, for she is so merciful.


- - Translated by Swapna Behera

,

ଓ ଳଦ ଳ ଦ ଓ

? ଳ

ଓ ଦ

ଦ ଳ ।

Odia

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