Péter Závada: Happy Hour

I live, and it’s a rare moment.
The light is a white, little-finger sized
ray on the garden table’s bent.
Maybe you will come before it disguised.

This summer garden belongs to the shadows.
It’s calm this way today.  I reckon.
The light is like barley mellows
leaking through the trees’ crown.

You’re not coming today.  Standing by the corner.
The disk of the sun brightening:
thousands of celestial Iron-worker
spill the beer foam spreading.

I know it’s not so glad:
this non-coming, this junk alcohol
– I live, and it’s not my bad.
I promise it will be solved.

Benyamin Bensalah


Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “Boldog óra”.

3 thoughts on “Péter Závada: Happy Hour

    1. I love every lonely soul ❤️

      I will pay more attention to your poems im a while, they are indeed lovely and need more time to read. 🥰

      Thank you for your nice comments and empathy. 🌹

      Liked by 1 person

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