Written by Ágoston Hajnal
A cyanide corridor stretch and welter
A square pattern ground of metallic slander
The view was desolate, dry, and dim
Vessels of discomfort filled to the brim
I saw it from close and afar
And inhabited a boy apart
Picked apart, cut, stretched, starved, pummeled, disassembled
A deflowered little life slashed asunder
Could these be bits of me?
Get a longer arm with greater reach
Sharper teeth, a face of glee
Eating the tears of disarray
Confined to purple shorts
Knees bruised shivering indoors
White as a corpse lost on the course
Chased across floors in puerile wars
Among the mockery of ghouls
I was always afraid of the falls
In this childhood of trivial horrors
I disappeared
We all wore the same colour in gym class
Violets failed to bloom together
The rare hands of friendship gone
The flask of violence ajar
Poured filth onto us all
And the failure to be human
Was of no concern to anyone
The electric rain of taunts
Seeped into my timid wants
Spit, curse, growl, scream, push, laugh, defecate over this light
I cowered before them like I had died
As clouds of regret arise
I could not have done otherwise
But I feel like a part of me was taken
Reshaped in the echo of conclusions spoken
From this sea of decay and dysfunction
From shards of syllables barbaric
I escaped
Then I found new forms of hatred
My dear poisonous blanket
This hollow purple rag
I should rip it into shreds
I’m starting to resign myself to the chance
That I may never get revenge
Could my future hold violets?
I put them over these craters
Now their sweet scent lingers
I can see, feel, and breathe their lot of defilement
I contributed to this culture of deflowerment
Tar, steel, brick, aluminium, concrete, cast iron
Matters of destruction thrived and piled on
School, church, office, home, body, prison
Small seeds of change above ground arisen
It’s time to let go of this age of resentment
Human, person, fellow, soul, man, woman
This Samsara of outrage shall finally end
Who’s that one I’m looking for?
That walking reverberation
That someone of the marshland mists
That rover of chivalrous deeds
That one I always yearned to be
Little ashes poured over dark lilac openings
As I repeat moves of lethal offerings
A purple rag will be placed on my waist
To show my balance of savagery and grace
And the frailties of gentle winds
Are turning into tranquil gales
Right next to these remnants
And the constant deluge of tempests
Tombs, battlefields, bonfires, graves
From the shapes of brilliant waves
And from the silence of space
I made a life
Text © Ágoston Hajnal
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Absolutely brilliant piece of writing. It carried me off through a child’s life desecrated by bullying and feelings of angst that could never be homed in on the original target and thus have to meld with what is in order to create some semblance of a so-called life.
This may or may not have been the artists intention, but for the record this is where it took me. Amazing!