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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)