Poetry is freedom. Freedom of feeling, freedom of expression, freedom of belonging. I often pay attention to myself when an artwork beats my heart, puts a smile or tears on my face, excites me, gives me inspiration, unleashes the depths of my soul and enables me to create. They are bringing me to life.
She composed a lullaby
from frost, rain, rising sun, and wind,
as the birds flew high,
as the squirrels were chasing.
...
I got home quickly today, there was quite little traffic.
I didn't tell you, so here are some words, they are graphic,
Just a drawing of the time I was there with you.
/It's standing in front of my house, I can see you in the yew./
...
The days are just running out and
the man's arm still doesn't hug me.
There is no reality, there is nothing
what mine, that is only a movie.
...
Távolság /3./
Mondd szerelmem, bízol bennem?
Elmegyek, ha el kell mennem.
Nem zárul rád a két karom
...