On an anniversary...

(Lugano, 1966)

this cross here

stands in the web of bleak fog

under the buckled wings
of the fall sky

yellow and vine-red
chrysanthemums wrap
homage and
reverence
around it

the chrysanthemums weep
like for regular dead in gentle cemeteries

this cross here

stands
for those
who with feverish head
and throbbing hearts
   in reckless madness
ran
into the hail of bullets

for those
whose eyes we covered
with torn flags

for those
we saluted in the Buda cemeteries
with rasp barks of rifle fire

for those too
who even today
might be staring at Siberia’s dwindling sky

for those...

but who could list them

I sense the final victory of faith…
I feel pride
hope
and
for fleeting moments
   the “what could have been”
even the feverish planning…

here’s this cross

bearing on its carved arms
a crucified
piece of history

(translated from Hungarian by Laszlo Fulop, Minneapolis, MN. Oct.99)