Roses | Mónika Tóth
facing
all directions …
red roses
Bulging eyes from the fish tank
of life, bifocal large,
zooming in and out
for a better view.
He wants to undo himself.
Start again.
Become unborn.
And even if there were words to describe such a thing–
he doesn’t believe in words.
Sometimes I question the difference
between being lost and being found.
In the vortex of dance,
wandering in the labyrinth of time
she saw
the ephemerality of existence.
Today turns into yesterday
as in the Heraklite river
– fluid, smooth.
Although trees live longer than humans,
slouching between them
one can see the scattered dandelions.
And behind a tall wall of boxwood
there is everything
one cannot go back to.
Every ray of the sun
is a hope for existence,
even though
at some point it will
not allow for a gust of life.
Translated by Artur Komoter.