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Deserted Fields 1.19
Desert Storm 0.45
Desert Caravan 1.29
The Furies of the Desert 1.17
The Desert of the Soul 2.13
Deserted Field
My heart is sitting on the branch of Nothing.
It's little body is trembling in the cold.
Stars are gathering around it in the silence,
And gently watching it to bolt.
Attila Jozsef,
Hungarian poet
Furies of the Desert
With homage to "Visions of the Emerald Beyond" by Mahavishnu Orchestra
The Desert of the Soul
Mondd, mit érlel annak sorsa,
Ki maga él, maga keres,
Levesének nincs sava, borsa,
S hitelt nem ád a fûszeres.
Tört széke van, hogy begyújtson,
Repedt kályháján macska ül,
Ritmust lóbál az ajtókulcson,
Néz, s lefekszik egyedül.
József Attila
Say, what is to come out the fortune for
who had not the chance to get a hoe?
His soup has not any flavour
and there is no credit at the store.
He has a broken chair to make some fire,
the cat is sitting always on his stove.
Swinging a little rhytm on the doorkeys
Gazing to nowhere and will go to bed alone.
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