Singularity - Tibor Babiczky

When you step forth as
yourself, in full armour,
with each step making
the caverns of the subconscious
collapse, and all wisdom shrinks back.

You see your room of old.
And everything you loved
radiates a strange light,
as if the memory were another's.

But the pain is not yours either.
In your old room someone else is sleeping.
Vultures with golden-horse feathers 
have settled on the trees.

Majestic, silent scavengers,
they watch the silent house.
In every window: night.
The wings do not stir.

In the end every memory
shatters and falls to pieces.
Each lonely sliver calls out
to its thousand dead siblings.

Of outside and inside a single space,
thus the vultures' home is made.
The flight of enormous birds
leads to the vast waters.

Sunshades' colourful rings 
on the shore.  Under the eyelids,
like a shower falling on the water,
the patter of colourful circles.

In the sand glitter the many
glass shards polished by the water.
Not one is sharp.  Never again
can they be reassembled.

---

Tibor Babiczky (born 1980) Hungary
Translated by Peter Sherwood
Source: Versopolis