Ottó Orbán:
TRIPTYCH IN THE HEAVEN-EARTH CHATEDRAL
 

ETERNAL PEACE​
 

If only at least a ship came to cast anchor! But the shiny nothing does not even cause any waves here. Once in a blue moon an absent-minded bell rings, then hushes up, frightened. The clock shows a constant twelve o’clock noon. The single word in the newspaper: GLORY. Under the parasols some happy souls rumble the flats; time and again they flap their wings to dust it off. On the corner, the bus with no driver or passengers is constantly droning, with the shiny words on its side: LOCAL SERVICE. I’m telling you, ma’am, that once cantankerous type which used to pick up a stick without a moment’s hesitation for some legacy matters of the heart is only yawning and putting on weight these days. Between us, this was the revenge of hope. The now castrated rooster of the world is crowing, but who would want to wake up to the voice of a creature from which doubt, the very essence of the beautiful and the abominable, is missing? And so the sleeping matter is turning in its ray-bed to its other side, while all we can do is continue to hope, even if in vain, that a pirate star will finally sail our way, with a knife between its teeth and murderous excitements in its eyes.
 

                                                                                                           1974