The Eighth Tribe, 1976 (3. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1976-10-01 / 10. szám

The Great Burial

Hungary’s casket is wide So bow down, all.

Prostrate, we mournfully cry.

We nailed, sealed it in an abyss.

In arms of pallbearers

Toward each compass point we pulled.

We dragged and carried to grave’s edge Straining shoulders

Unmerged, splitting to East and West.

The load pulled, pressed and slid As sport we made,

While under the load, hope lurked.

Always troubling is our course,

Divided dreams,

Which outnumber raindrops cadence.

We dozed, on usurped strength lived well With illusions,

Broke our legs upon airy dreams.

Dreams waft away like cloudy pasts Yet shame remained.

Both right and left extremes tumbled.

Confessions and pain could now come With heavy tears.

Cry! The tears may lighten the load.

Joseph Pesti