standing in front of a mirror
You recall it said:
To hinge upon time is self-delusion
Tomorrows and days after,
Longevity or ephemeron
Are mere matters of illusion

At twilight or dawn
Being singularly alone,
Or with a once-beloved one,
You realise that sweet words, too,
Have finally abandoned you

A few ripples of the musi
Remnants of the danube once blue
Carved upon the forehead
Salty hairs that fall
Onto your sagging shoulders
Gushed sounds to the ears:
Bang, bang!

To whom does this phizzog belong
Should be no crucial question
If only you could summon
A daring, long-gone, emotion

(Budapest-Jakarta, 1993-1999)

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