Once an angel offered mankind a choice
to have power to destroy or
the power to create life.
At that time, there split two different lives
in which we are living happy, and
the other in which we are now.
No one knows how alternate they are,
but it’s an awful day for living and
a beautiful day to die.
Build a house with a garden,
build an oven, earthen – marbled,
all that easy, all that nice,
but it’s just a house
of homeless materials
because it’s a family
that a home requires.
Why is it so hard to talk to me?
I’m so easy to define and see
like a drawn circle on a 2D paper;
no need to think of infinite dots,
no need to calculate any of the odds
why we are a 2D paper’s spots.
I’m so easy to talk to as a 2D circle;
I know all about what’s a circle,
I have ideas who draws circles,
what’s the paper all around,
but in a glance, all the flat talk circles down.
I am not a 2D circle –
I am a ball after all;
I need to select 3D objects
to talk about the mere sphere
we see as truly- or non-coprehendable.
I talk about all dimensions –
nonetheless its name or number,
or how they are non-comprehendable;
I am an E8 mass of particles,
being everywhere, but nowhere as a whole.
I am so hard to talk to
because I am here and there after all;
there’s my shadow on a 2D paper,
there I am bouncing like a ball,
and such a changing shade is barely talkable.
Would we any rate –
stop this masquerade?
We act in the shop.
We act on the streets.
We act at the workplace.
We act alone under the sheets.
We act with the friends,
differently with one, two or any of them.
We put a new mask at each circumstances,
not missing a single of those chances
to see a reality and feel it,
act on it and fake it until we believe it.
Then, when those rare moments come up
finding us without absolute no mask, no setup;
we question the whole thing that has been,
in the shop, on the streets, at the workplace –
under the sheets –
and as we see that we have no face,
and nothing does matter,
we cry badly at cost of whatever,
or at any rate
just to let us start again
just let us go back
to that stupid masquerade.
I’ve never seen a word such suffocating –
such as regret.
I stuffed my already crowded mind with lies
such as I never feel regret.
I stuffed my ego with lies that I deserved this all,
and all the bad is out of regret.
I went dreamwalking with that chestboard in my chest,
seeing all pain I was used to, but regret.
While the word kept me chasing, just as my chest kept aching
from what I wasn’t able to see that I do regret.
My chest is opening now, with unusual pain that is searing me down,
but I’m somehow happy to hear that I do regret.
All the pain I caused, not just to myself alone, not just to the one I loved,
but for everyone who had to pay for my pain – I regret.
I don’t know how could it be possible now to be a better person from now,
and I really don’t know it like I didn’t know it back from now, but I regret.
This word is here now, that kept me suffocating – crying – waiting for answers in my hiding,
but I am free now; free as a hated criminal who’s not enjailed now, and knows only one word
only one word that he murmures alone:
04.12.2020, 04:20 am
…that drinking ruins my life?
Hah, already ruined,
and the simple fact that I’m alive
is already a part of paying the price.
Actually, there are days I can live
with the thought of myself,
and also there are when I have no money,
so my drinking is in balance.
But… if you mentioned drinking,
could you lend me some pennies?
You know, I’m a bit short of…
…reason to live.
Hide and then seek again,
Play and then re-play again,
Talk and then meet up again,
Learn and then take exam again,
Work and then change work again,
Buy things and then buy more things;
Infinite loop of doings
With finite scope of ownings
of the last peekaboo,
of the last win with value,
of the last astonishing taboo,
of the last bought thing seen as new,
of the last intercourse we are able to do
Leading to play and don’t play again,
Breathe and don’t breathe again,
Seek meaning that hides again,
After days until a day again,
Till not waking up again.
I can breath without you telling me,
I can buy my toothpaste without nine from ten men’s counsel,
I do know that my cigar causes cancer,
I do not need your shit, you’re not selling me.
A big, big fire should be settled,
To let the people warm up.
Throwing on it everything that is antique, junks,
Shattered, broken and what is new and whole,
Children’s toy, – oh, happy hare and hounds! –
And heaving on it everything that’s beautiful.
A hot flame would sing to the sky about it
And it would hold in its hands everyone’s properties.
A big, big fire should be settled,
Since the cities, the grounds are frostbitten …
To tear open the handles of the frosted cell
And light it up, to make everything heaten.
That fire, oh, should be settled,
To let the people warm up!
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Tél” (1922).
Sometimes, I feel like a little child…
Such who mourns even the bee after getting stung…
Then, sometimes… I feel like the bee…
That has nothing to lose and stings any one near…