My heart is an empty stack,
For what, only myself deserves smack,
But it hurts.
Whoever falls into it
Will hang with me in it,
Such as: but it hurts!
My life’s a lifeless winter,
It’s snowing my head so sinister,
But it hurts.
My venom broke out if it would dare,
If there were anger, would you dare,
A lord of pain who hurts.
Although fate would finally give a way,
I’m not waiting only to give away,
So, let it hurt if it has to hurt.
Translated from my Hungarian poem, “Fájjon ha fájni kell.”
How I envy you all
Who can just ignore me,
Delete me from sites or apps,
Block my number and WhatsApp,
And see my face on Facebook no more
While I am glued, imprisoned with myself;
Not like you, I need to face me daily – again
And again feeling pity, disgust, nuisance, hate,
And weirdness, waiting eagerly my disappearance.
Don’t cry my dear mother,
Not even your love was enough to bright the world,
Don’t cry my lil brother,
I’m with you even from underworld,
Don’t cry my loved exes,
I’m in the place you wished me by your last word,
Don’t cry my cold lover,
There are fuckboys needing no emotional support,
Don’t cry my classmates, colleagues,
My place will provide others even better comfort,
Don’t cry my greedy father,
Money will come from other mysterious sort,
Don’t cry my dear friends,
This is my last silent detachment I created,
Don’t cry my employers,
There will be other slaves better graduated,
Don’t cry my world,
I am leaving a place that I always hated.
Wished to be happy. Forget it.
Wished to be wanted. Forget it.
Wished one to hold me. Forget it.
Wished only to live once. Forget it.
Once, I was able to wish. I forgot it.
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.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “Boldog óra”.
In my absence people rejoice,
In my absence all problem resolves,
In my absence the world would be better,
In my absence I myself wouldn’t get sadder.
Darkblue sky. The Venus’s bright.
The moon’s somewhere. Stars are there.
I’m alone. As I’ve grown.
I’ve no goal. I play no role.
The stars are dying. But still brighting.
I’m not crying. But I can’t wait dying.
This night. This life is meaningless.
Just a primate. With extra stress.
Under the nude sky. With extra dress.
This moment. Small-time torment.
I have dream…
That has never been..
At the end,
Only to say:
Only an and..
On an and-ending.
It’s an and,
That never ends.
As well as the end
Will never end,
By saying only: and…
An and & an end.
I was just an innocent snowball full in blanche
that turned into the most awful avalanche;
taking one life after one another,
oh, how I wish that I rather
could have sublimed in my mother,
never bringing disaster to my so dear lover.
You know there’s no forgiveness
so, it’s vain to turn to sadness.
Be what you meant to be: a man.
After you, there still grows grass.
The sin will not get lighter,
so, it’s vain if you water.
That you are an evidence to this,
thank what you could acquire.
Don’t blame, don’t swear
don’t be a jerk to yourself
don’t worship and don’t seduce
don’t join the army unaware.
don’t look at the secrets.
And with humanity,
since you are a man, don’t be reckless.
Remember you growled
and in vain you implored.
You have become a false witness
at your own record.
You called Father being fallen,
man if you found none in heaven.
And you found grown bad spots
in your psychoanalytic canon.
You believed in easy talking,
in friends been just acting
and see, never, never anyone
said that you were worthy.
They cheated, they loved me so
you cheated and you can’t love also.
Now, grab the loaded gun
and squeeze it to your empty torso.
Or throw away all the principles
and still hope for faithful love-riddles,
since like a dog you would believe
in anyone who’d see you still love-able.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Attila József, “Tudod hogy nincs bocsánat”(1937).