Slowly, musingly, <br /> <br />I am as one who comes to rest <br />by that sad, sandy, sodden shore <br />and looks around, and undistressed <br />nods his wise head, and hopes no more. <br /> <br />Just so I try to turn my gaze <br />with no deceptions, carelessly. <br />A silver axe-swish lightly plays <br />on the white leaf of the poplar tree. <br /> <br />Upon a branch of nothingness <br />my heart sits trembling voicelessly, <br />and watching, watching, numberless, <br />the mild stars gather round to see. <br /> <br />In heaven's ironblue vault . . . <br /> <br />In heaven's ironblue vault revolves <br />a cool and lacquered dynamo. <br />The word sparks in my teeth, resolves <br />--oh, noiseless constellations!--so-- <br /> <br />In me the past falls like a stone <br />through space as voiceless as the air. <br />Time, silent, blue, drifts off alone. <br />The swordblade glitters; and my hair-- <br /> <br />My moustache, a fat chrysalis, <br />tastes on my mouth of transience. <br />My heart aches, words cool out to this. <br />To whom, though, might their sound make sense?<br /><br />Attila Jozsef<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/without-hope-rem-nytelen-l/
