(by Sándor Reményik)
I want: not to be important to myself.
I want to be a brick in the infinite wall,
a stairway upon which others crawl,
a plough that digs deep into the ground,
but the abounding wheat isn’t its merit.
To be the wind that carries the seed,
but doesn’t open the petals of the bud-bead.
Let the people who walk on the meadow
forget the wind, enjoy the flowers aglow.
I want to be the handkerchief that wipes away tears,
to be the silence that eases fears,
to be a caressing hand that perseveres.
To be and never know that I am.
I want to be on tired lashes slumber,
to be the mirage on a desert summer,
never asking if anyone watches me or not.
I want to be the mirage on a vast plain.
To be a deep sigh up to the sky
coming from ancient earth’s black heart.
I want to be the wire carrying the message,
and let them replace me when I’m broken.
I want to be under many souls a raft,
a simple, roughly patched together craft
that is carried to sea by rivers flowing deep.
I want to cry into infinity like a violin,
until the Violinist puts down the bow.