wind's all-day singing,
a shrivelled caterpillar in my armchair is listening
that melody brings a whiff of the neighbourhood;
perhaps they slurp their lunch from the capillaries of chickens,
our past mocks the naked lilacs; --- frigid brunches, solid roots,
though both feed on the old blood from the soil,
they are ordinary in the Pannonian Bidet
in the sweetened madhouse of feudalism,
where the conversations about the desire for freedom
are always so ridiculous, where the
freedooo is breathing with an open mouth in the coffin,
again, its inscrutable future,
and its voice is a muffled rattle reminiscent of
previous wars and massacres,
which was committed by many predecessors,
and now their descendants support a tsar,
while a few hundred kilometres away,
in that war, his soldiers kill and rape and torture.
I am smaller and getting smaller,
in this cage where they applaud and cheer this disdainful;
for that crazy, lie-driven psychopath,
they have chosen evil again, like almost always.
Over and over again,
I do not belong here,
will flee, and leave, do not want to see this.
how to bear this coldness,
their soulless propaganda,
where to put the pain caused by their unswallowed bitter
and perverted megalomania,
and this constantly terrible selfishness,
the readiness and zeal for greed.
I kept walking in the kitchen and stopped at the window; in a
Lovely building in Buda
the courtyard in the middle,
spiral staircase,
grey walls, the smell of meals ---
They vomit the penetrating pain of this ordinary.
I don't hate it as that would just be self-poisoning.
I am not sorry for it either.
a shrivelled caterpillar in my armchair is listening
that melody brings a whiff of the neighbourhood;
perhaps they slurp their lunch from the capillaries of chickens,
our past mocks the naked lilacs; --- frigid brunches, solid roots,
though both feed on the old blood from the soil,
they are ordinary in the Pannonian Bidet
in the sweetened madhouse of feudalism,
where the conversations about the desire for freedom
are always so ridiculous, where the
freedooo is breathing with an open mouth in the coffin,
again, its inscrutable future,
and its voice is a muffled rattle reminiscent of
previous wars and massacres,
which was committed by many predecessors,
and now their descendants support a tsar,
while a few hundred kilometres away,
in that war, his soldiers kill and rape and torture.
I am smaller and getting smaller,
in this cage where they applaud and cheer this disdainful;
for that crazy, lie-driven psychopath,
they have chosen evil again, like almost always.
Over and over again,
I do not belong here,
will flee, and leave, do not want to see this.
how to bear this coldness,
their soulless propaganda,
where to put the pain caused by their unswallowed bitter
and perverted megalomania,
and this constantly terrible selfishness,
the readiness and zeal for greed.
I kept walking in the kitchen and stopped at the window; in a
Lovely building in Buda
the courtyard in the middle,
spiral staircase,
grey walls, the smell of meals ---
They vomit the penetrating pain of this ordinary.
I don't hate it as that would just be self-poisoning.
I am not sorry for it either.
I am tired,
lonely and nervous about the faces around me.
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