My indifference surpasses Earth’s billions species,
my wild philosophies boil hotter than Venus,
my grief’s still colder than Pluto’s deepest valleys,
my carelessness embraces the whole space;
still, there’s a crying child in me
who doesn’t want more than being loved
and told motherly that this is your very place.
Time has been no more just a deception.
Where are the uncountable years on chain?
How to count the unceasable pain?
What measure can contain all the knowledge
of one’s griefing observation
on the self and what imprisons it?
The world is no more than a foolery.
All the pain grew shield on our skin, still..
Still, the scars are under our scales;
they are graved into the heart –
no teeth, no claws can defend us from;
this ruthless form is meaningless.
Life is a ceaseless demolition.
There’s no defense from this dark magic;
it creates spears and useless scales against,
then some wizardry chains us in caves
because we burnt the bridges, burnt the gates,
but weren’t we created for that?
Carressing with paining hands,
breathing with heavy lungs,
standing up with an aching back,
loving with a broken heart;
what else absurdities do you have for me?
Where it will be gone
when it leaves Earth’s surface
leaves my body
Will it feel alone
like I myself did
all the time
Will it miss me
like I did miss care
in my life?
Will it miss itself
like I did miss myself
on my own?
Wherever it will be
I’d like it to know
that it’s alright
and we did have
quite a road.
It started with a Monday morning
that could be skipped staying snoring,
but then things might’ve been better,
and I wouldn’t have turned to this letter.
My gloomy, grumpy morning face
was unknowingly drifting to a horrid fate,
accepting calls as a working routine
like a piece of meat in an evil cuisine.
With all my soul within me burning
my already doomed stance went to turning
to be gifted a tooth aching in my mouth
just when I thought I was already way south.
The pain tortured me, in and out,
feeling just as conscious to avoid blackout;
while the universe kept me hitting.
I checked dentists’ numbers on the Maps,
but they were shown so far on the apps;
it was late for me already pushing the shift,
so I rather jumped down from a cliff.
You might be asking: how’s this writing;
it was my last note of whining –
for me, suicide has never been a taboo,
especially when the tooth aches too.
How annoying, how disturbing
living in this urban turning
day to day – and today!
How pressing, depressing
is it to live – captive
How soothing is the thought
ceasing to exist – I sought
the exit of 6 times foot.
A world has shattered and I bear its shards;
they are so painfully aching –
though I see no else cure than my lost crystal
that without, there’s no reason
whether I’m waking or sleeping.
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.”
You who can’t hear the scream of silence;
The shrieking loneliness of days and nights,
You who can’t see the shades of indifference;
The invisible sadness in the ever smiling eyes,
You who can’t touch life in ceaseless roughness;
The dried out face that only in the heart cries,
You who can’t taste the rejoice as bitterness;
The rockbottoms of an endless precipice,
You who can’t feel the lifelong unpeace;
The homelessness in roof disguise,
How could you understand the words of mine’s;
The life inside a violin’s fall and rise,
How could you understand Peace;
A moment my heart so eagerly desires,
Being absent on me in the whiles.
My childhood’s broken reality haunts past, present and future;
dark traumas turned my fate to undergo on torture –
searing and healing, then searing and healing, and never relieving;
all my bad omens keep ceaselessly repeating,
sealed into my soul from the very first till the latest hour:
I’m happy for those whom I could save from this terribly cursed power
to being able seeing the cures of all the bad times
that themselves curse my every hope all the times –
a whispered ending that’s never ending: we are all alone,
whispered, but it’s waving through all the wall
that could separate a broken reality’s dope
from a seeding soil so real that it’s even deceiving, saying: there’s a hope.