A keresés eredménye

In a library

Outside, the wind of corruption bending the cypresses
inside the profound and silent peace of the centuries.
The great ones and the Unknown in their tired shelves
with officially concealed their golden lips.
Those who chased the glory in vain and those
who received it abundantly without deserving it.
Life-tracks of humble spirits and other miserable ones
and those who, having solved big secrets, went for others.
The pale light falls on relics of beloved poets
on the old four-volume Gospel who brought up the Nation
leafs upon which monks shed their eyes out
on the elderly face of a bored wised man
inquiring and collecting 'footnotes' with solemnity..
Young black eyes are lighted by the little light
in their unsaturated endeavour for the absolute knowledge.
 
Like an irony, untouched by what lives around,
stands the poor employee eager to leave.
 

To a pregnant woman

This child you are now carrying
don't let him/her live
under the exhausts of the vehicles
in the bitter anonymity of the big city
with the units standing alone
after many zeros.
Everything here is frozen
both love and the fruits of earth
that do not remember when did they leave their trees.
Send it somewhere to grow up
where the rain is not an everyday cry.
He/she is born for the sun
the kindness, and here he/she will get lost.
He/she will become a flashing traffic light
in the midnight hours
in front of which only the drug people stop
waiting for an orange sun.
He/she will become a calculator in the supermarket.
No one will teach him that the sky is blue
nor you, will you be able to tell him who his father is.
 

An angel in Metropolitan Museum

You passed by the Kouros* of Cyprus
and they stood straight in front of you
and they found again their 'archaic smile'.
The unmarried virgins woke up
in those expatriated tombstones
as if they have seen a familiar figure
and Panathinais streched her arms offering you
an amphora full of Cycladic light.
Painted birds sung in the ancient wine carafs*.
The armor of the knights moved
gladiators were ready again to die for you,
to become astronauts
and bring you the silver of the moon.
You stood in front of Greco and you stole
all the light of the robes*
and the storm left Toledo*
and little Christ turned over to see you.
You sometimes passed by in a hurry as if you were chased
by the flood of beauty in this little corner of the world,
but then again they stopped you with their fragrance
the irises of Vincent Van Gogh*
and the Degas ballets* as they started dancing.
Ancient boats called you to sail the Nile,
the Ptolemies would have put a golden crown in your hair.
And suddenly you got lost in the crowd.