I want to: not to be important to myself.
Let me be a brick in an endless wall,
Stairs, on which someone else goes up,
A plow that works the ground, digging into it,
But the corn is not its merit.
Let me be the wind that carries the seed,
But not causing the flowers bloom,
And the people, when they are on the field – assume,
Let them admire the flower.
Let me be the handkerchief that wipes away tears
Let me be the silence that always eases.
Let me be the hand that caresses shoulders,
Let me be, and never let me know I exist.
Let me be the dream on the tired lashes.
Let me be the vision that appears
And doesn’t ask if it’s watched or not,
Let me be the mirage on the rune.
Let me be from the black heart of the old earth
A deep sigh up to the sky and forth,
Let me be the wire on which message goes through
And replace me if I’m worn.
Let me be the boat under many souls,
Simple, roughly clashed raft,
That’s taken by deep rivers onto the sea.
Let me be a violin that cries into the infinity,
Until the artist puts down the bow.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Sándor Reményik, “Akarom”.