Blow Wind, Blow Poem by Kinga Fabo

You sit me down. Make my bed. For me. For you.
For her. The way she swings around. Sways. Bows.
Let's say: I'll tell you. Let's say: You'll listen.

My dearest!
You congregant!
How should I use you?
I'm sitting right here and murmur.
Iam sweet, you are sweet.

It was beautiful. Congregated. Used.
I should have done something to him.
There were many other
things. Things? Many?
It was winter, Hard. Un-
breakable.
There was a woman. A man. Insignifican'

(Translated by Gabor G. Gyukics)