Like a frozen stone
Without a glance being blown,
I got thrown away.
I was flying in silence,
Then, I moaned up without resilience
On a brick.
Through an eaves,
I fell into the stream’s waves,
Where the jailer is the detachment,
Not somewhat cold.
The spring is sobbing,
Its tears are smoothly rushing,
Pushing to a land.
Among stones standing,
Patience is suffocating, ending,
Promising their hold never ends,
In a new stream,
Me and solitude in a team,
But it’s all fine.
Sleeping is the only way,
Not seeing when we’re thrown away,
Translated from my own Hungarian poem, Kör kört követ.