A keresés eredménye

You Vowed Till Death

You vowed till death,
    that, darling, be mine.
We came round both
    as soon as, grew mind.
 
We came round both
    as soon, comprehend,
That luck till death
    not happens, my friend.
 
Swan gently rocks
    in flames of water,
But swims to lands
    get feet on later.
 
Lonely, more once
    the water will shine.
Blinking night stars
    will look at her eye.
 

About beauty of human faces

Some faces are like splendid gates of a castle,
On their smallest features our eyes gladly fasten.
And others are like wretched huts built of scrap
Where people cook liver and tripe for a snack.
Some faces, indifferent, lifeless and freezing,
Are shut with the bars like a cell in a prison.
And others like towers where no one has long
Looked out the window nor sat on the throne.
And there was a hut at the edge of the forest,
It was kind of homely and small, very modest,
But its tiny window, like blossoms in May,
Has brought me the scent of a spring’s sunny day.
The world is indeed full of various marvels!
Some faces remind us the anthems and carols.
Of these sun-like radiant, cheerful notes
Are made precious melodies, fit for the gods.
 

The wife

He pulls back his hair with a grumble
And sullenly sits at the desk.
A cure in a yellowish tumbler
His wife’s pouring him from a flask.
 
How deep is a tenderness laying
In her a bit diffident gaze,
How funny the ringlets are framing
Her pallid and delicate face!
 
All day he’s been writing and writing
With recondite work being obsessed.
She’s holding her breath and treads lightly
So that he is healthy and blessed.
 
Should floorboard creaks on the terrace,
His eyebrow’s raised, and at once
She’s turning deep red being embarrassed
By his much reproachful glance.
 
Who are you, the peak of perfection?
Just think: neither Goethe nor Wilde
Had ever known such deep affection
Or faith in their talent and mind.
 
What good is a lot of your scribblings?
And why are you always so cross?
And what are you seeking while digging
In your countless failures and woes?
 
But if you had really devoted
Yourself to the good of mankind,
Why haven’t you still even noticed
The treasure of your own life?
 

A voice on the phone

Like a bird it rang a while ago,
It welled up and gurgled like a spring,
As if with a shining, vivid flow
On the wire it aspired to stream.
 
Later on, like sobbing you’d hear nightly,
Like farewell to joyful state of mind,
It became to sound so contritely
And got lost amidst the far-off wilds.
 
Somewhere in the fields it might have vanished,
Overtaken by a cruel snowstorm...
And my soul is torn by heavy anguish,
And how mute’s the black box of my phone.