The Cut Line

He would feel right if only he had it.

In his dream, he just felt it.

Please, don’t abide. Don’t pretend.

Can’t you see? It’s worthless to stand.

All the worth, all the might that once was,

Dispersed into the abyss of meaning

That deep hollow none can touch,

No one can revive what’s sealed.

If he had the chance just to touch it

One more time, he begged the Fates,

Implored them not to cut, to divide,

To let him feel the silk of remembrance.

But memory is a cruel needleworker,

Threading moments with unstoppable pace.

What once felt like velvet skin

Now has turned into sandpaper.

And though he reached the scissors trembling,

Though he wept at what was lost

In the end, he was the one

Who cut the line and paid the cost.

Kertész Attila   XI. H