I dream of dreams; all stale and cold.
Remember faces; pale and old,
Fairy tales which are cruel and bad;
My body's alive, my soul's dead.
Outwardly calm and content smile
Covering what's inside and while
Inwards cascade the floods of tear,
Thin surface hides the chronic fear.
Hit the bottom, from here dead end,
No rays of hope future can send.
My heart's cold lump; not worth a hoot…
Devil kicked it… with football boot…
© P. J. Oszmann (1952 in Hungarian. English translation 2003)
(Written as an expression of despair under the oppression of the Stalin years.
I intend to quote it in my forthcoming book: Jew Be or Not Jew Be; The Story of a perpetual Alien. Book 2. Under Stalin's Shadow.)
As an after-thought and for those who might be interested (and for those who might understand it) and may wish to compare structure, I am enclosing the original below.
Álmodok hideg, bús álmokat,
Álmodok hideg, bús álmokat,
Látok öreg, sápadt arcokat,
Tündérmesét: gonosz, kegyetlen;
Testem él, de lelkem életlen.
Kivülröl hüvös, csendes mosoly
Fedi a háborodott, komoly
Tusát, s mig bent a lélek zokog,
Kivül az arcizom sem mozog.
Elértem a mélyt, zsákut innen.
Egy csöpp remény sincs, nincs mit hinnem.
Szivem hideg, egy rongyot sem ér,
Bele lett rugva, kihült a vér.
© P. J. Oszmann (February 1952.)
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Sandie Angel :o(