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XI. Shards

The Body and Soul Universe of Poetry

is like my fallen childhood. In my head

my good teacher’s warning rings: “Wherever

you go, my boy, water turns to fire as you pass.”

Since I was baking carrots with another

at the bottom of the haystack; burned

both clothes and haystack – there goes my pocket-money

– my buddy got it (he slaps his pocket proudly);

at night I stole money from his pajamas,

replaced with spices. Thus I tottered around

the morning, and how he woke – spying his long face…

I had to kneel in the corner all day on corn…

I was a child, and many problems gathered…

I’m young – my life has been but fancy…

(for János Bogdán)