In line at lunch I cross my fork and spoon to ward off complicity--the ordered life our leaders have offered us. Thin as a knife, our chance to live depends on such a sign while others talk and The Pentagon from the moon is bouncing exact commands: "Forget your faith; be ready for whatever it takes to win: we face annihilation unless all citizens get in line."
I bow and cross my fork and spoon: somewhere other citizens more fearfully bow in a place terrorized by their kind of oppressive state. Our signs both mean, "You hostages over there will never be slaughtered by my act." Our vows cross: never to kill and call it fate.
Volunteers needed to translate poetry into different languages. Please help us correct the translation of these poems. We currently have 79,663 translations and are trying to create the largest and most accurate database of world poetry translations. We have started with machine translations which are very inaccurate. Please translate your favorite poem on this site. You will be given credit for your translation and a link to your site if desired. COPYRIGHT NOTICE: These poems have been gathered and submitted by many of people, and from many sources. Most have no copyright. However, some may may have copyrights. We have tried to collect poems that appear on many external sites where the author seems to want to disseminate. If you are an author and do not want your poetry translated into other languages then send a removal request and it will be promptly removed.
McGill RSS Feeds
A