How much did you sing
the psalms of your people, and other songs?
But I know your complaining, gently accusing words:
We played the flute for you and you did not dance;
we sang weeping, and ye did not mourn.
How many flute nights
did you have a hillside singing class?
I do not know. But it would be great to know
since your singing and flute
always went further than yourself…
I want to sing to you now
with those who shook their souls in praise of thy great name.
Lord, I don't know how many pictures your heart has kept
from the beautiful Tiberian Sea,
before the azure of heaven had received your departing soul,
and the lilies of the fields,
about celestial birds,
when you hug your soul with the farewell glances of your faded eyes;
of that other earth, and another heaven,
which never cast you out of itself.
Have you seen the silhouette of the mountains from your cross?
Where you put on a bright dress of light
in front of your chosen disciples,
and you sucked into your tired lungs
a hot slice blowing towards you from the wilderness.
Have you noticed the carefree birds in the sky,
and did you taste the semolina flavor of the wanderings?
Let me go now, Lord,
to bring for you colors,
and their worships,
those who sang to You with their brush mourned your pains.
Lord, I am with them:
Who are blessing and praising You with their brush and their music
Worshipers who are worshiping You now with your colors and melodies,
with the treasures of others,
for I know that You do not despise my poverty.
I will come to you,
with melodies of passion and oratory,
falling to your knees in piano sounds fading with breath,
with heavenly desire.
I want to see the days, the colors,
hear the melodies
which have remained in your soul forever.
Therefore, this holy week, after the miserable hours of Via Dolorosa
I am asking with millions of singers of the ancient songs
Because You have risen for the third day,
your beauty and your truth,
the shepherd's staff of your Word
direct my soul and my word
On this festive week too,
when I tell you these things.
With worship, prayer…
Lord Jesus, I bring my heart to You,
thanks for not being too late yet...
I bring my heart to you
with my Hungarian brothers,
Who are Christians in and for Your name
to whom the sky of the Carpathian Basin also turns blue,
and who are not yet in a hurry,
But that you are living,
Is to us the home
Blessed are you, Jesus,
The Risen Wanderer of heaven and earth,
who are the Way and the Destination…
On the Holy Week of this pandemic year,
In the middle of Europe,
And far from here, in China
With Christians there,
And with all my sisters and brothers
On the face of the earth.
I sing the song of the future,
The anthem of your unique name
forever and ever, Amen!