We feel exceptionally well in your care
with or without your attention

The gust of wind in my back
I hear cicadas again
And tamed horses roam
Oh mother, I am back home

My breath short
And the heat soaring
Alone, as you were
Forgotten like a cur

The blades of grass welcomed me
And the trees whispered nice words
And the walls blankly listened
And my song was sung

But Hungary, my sweet old home
No more is my song for you

My breath shorter
Interrupted and forced to
Become one with that gust of wind
I run like the hunted
And my hunter the trusted

Lies, deception, corruption
That is what you are
My dear, sweet Hungary

The blades of grass no longer welcome me
And the trees turn their heads as the autumn comes
And my breath long, wispy and furtive
My song a ballad of my sadness
But there is nobody to sing it
And without ears, these shadows cannot hear it

I'm untangled from you, Hungary
I despise you, blades of grass
I will ignore you, trees, like you have chosen for me
This is not my home
The soil from whence I came and clay from whence I was made
I hope it dries up, I hope the end finally comes for you
And maybe then, you will wish for a different path
You will wish you had heard my song

Letter to my Deer
Thunder Bay, On
13th of June, 2013

My Dear,

I have been thinking for a long time about writing this letter to you. Only, every time I enter the writing room I feel how words abandon me into the hands of past memories. I feel deserted in front of still uncoated paper, and titanium pen waiting and waiting for the battle of my feelings.

I hope you understand and forgive me!
Since I left, much has been changed in my life.

Today,
I sit here in silence and wonder if it will rain.
The sunlight scattered in all directions
and clouds piled up covering the sky with a foggy blanket.

I sit quietly here
and watch how vapours are competing on my pale skin
for the arid spot to get in.

I hope it will start raining soon,
As it has been dry and hot since the new moon.

You know I always delighted in
touching fresh black soil with my eager hands
moving through its richness and leaf blades.

If aunty Larisa didn’t tell you,
I let you know, I moved inland and planted a garth.
I work hard from morning till night
being fond of every little progress,
at sunrise, I put up my sleeves,
spray the roses, and pull the weeds,
sensing the presence of a lost wind,
and watching how the greenwood
guards as an unnoticed hero.
It is soothing and comforting.

I even had a dream one night,
How the garden was in full bloom
waiting for you to come soon,
You were driven by grace
coming from a forest’s place,
the sun showed its shiny teeth,
and my heart froze when thee
gently leaned and smelled the rose,
as if you didn’t want to steal forest’s piece,
selflessly giving all of your attention
to the invisible fragrance.

Still in my dream,
Next spring I planted some chiefs,

I hope to hear from you soon,
My Deer,

The Gardener

poem:
words that haven't been said,
gaining new life,
but I'm wanting attention,
i am conspicuousness