Thus, I have found my homeland,

the ground where my name is written faultlessly

above me by those who

would bury me, if they bury me.

This ground will shelter me, like a cash box,

for the twenty cent coin, the iron six

that lingered after the war,

(how unfortunate!) is superfluous.

As is the iron ring, with pretty words,

a new world, rights, land

etched in --yet our laws are still warlike

and golden rings are more grand.

I was alone for a long time.

Then, later, many came to see me.

Youre alone, they said; though I'd have

gladly joined them if they asked me

I've lived and I existed in vain,

I've come to know this in my season.

They made me play the fool,

and my death doesnt have a reason.

Since I've lived amidst a cyclone,

I've tried to stand my ground.

It's ridiculous, I haven't wronged them

more than theyve jerked me around . . .

The Spring is pretty, as is Summer;

Autumn is prettier, and Winters special charm

is for those whose hope is for others

hearth and family keeping them warm.

1937

translated by Michael Castro & Gábor G. Gyukics