PoetryThe Price of Freedom |
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I hope you enjoy the poems on these pages. Please recommend them to your friends. This web site includes other writing by myself and my writing partner. You will find short stories and even novel excerpts from our print and electronically published work. My award winning autobiography, The Price of Freedom is available as an audio book as well as an e-book.
Don't miss Body Traffic, our RCMP mystery story!
REFUGEE'S MESSAGE I lost my language, I lost my soul. Now I'm like a stammering fool Who tries to express what he feels, His sorrow, his inner fears. But my accent is heavy, strange, And my verbal range is so limited That although I try to be your friend I fail. My expressions are so weak, so pale. Now your look is patronizing! And I agonize as I try to speak. But the bridge between us is missing, With understanding non-existing. Yes, we can talk, but without depth. Yes, I try to reach your intellect, But my feelings are locked inside. Nervous knots bind my tongue, They hold me fast Hurting me. My heart's expression remains unsaid. I stammer, like a fool. I lost my language, I lost my soul. Alex Domokos
WHO ARE YOU TO ME? You are no phantom image, youthful desire, Or infatuation which fades away with age. Those flames extinguish and heat cools, Nothing remains but cool embers of dead desire. No! You are much more to me! You are the pulse of my blood, My heartbeat, my destiny! With you my life started, is worth living! We are sharing, loving and giving. Like two shadows that unit as they blend Into one single unity at the end. Alex Domokos |
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Soldiers' Warning!
Beware young man, young soldier! On your war-torn streets today Your gun is aimed at The heart of your brothers! Your responsibility is not Only for the moment, But for eternity! You'll have to live forever With painful memories ... The excuses of command - "Martial-law... Duty" Will not comfort your soul, Nor calm your troubled heart In coming years... You will be haunted By the tears of your sister, Your mother, the nation Whose freedom, hope and Future destination Your bayonet helped to crush! Today, you may hide behind The false facade of obedience. But, in later years, In silent nights, You will be called By conscience to give account! Alex Domokos
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM A sparrow lost in winter's night Is tempted by our window's light. She flutters at the window pane, Her struggles futile, so in vain. I open now the window wide Inviting her to come inside. Her instinct fears captivity And she declines security. Next morning 'neath the window frame She lies there frozen, free from pain. She never knew a compromise, And freedom asks a sacrifice. Alex Domokos |
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RESURRECTION
Sour is the smell of autumn
As it lingers in the air,
Reminding me that fall is here
And I won't live forever.
It is ripening time around me,
Sadness, beauty mixed in one.
All the gaiety of spring and summer
Have long been gone.
Memories like crystal needles
Penetrate my aging heart,
Urging me to reminiscence
By the fire of the hearth.
Through the dancing flames of fire
I relive my early life.
Not yet dead, but deadly tired
From incessant earthly strife.
In the warmth of cooling fire
Is the answer, and the test;
As the fire cools to ashes
I will also come to rest.
But - as the kernel in the soil
Dies to bring about new birth,
Resurrection is the meaning
Re-emerging from the earth.
Life recycled, life renewed,
As the freshly growing grain
Trumpets forth the victory -
Life never perishes in vain.
Alex Domokos
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DAWN MASS My pen tracks the paper's field of snow. As it flies on, the lines are added. Dreaming upon white paper as I write, I carve my life, my soul. Tunes, deeply human Carry me back across the city square. On the soft carpet of timeless years. . . There stands the child, helpless and blond of hair, The boy I was, half whimpering in his fears. I walk the dawn, as flakes my path enfolds; The voice of bells is calling me to mass With Christmas language in the starry cold. I whistle tunes my time of fear to pass. My footsteps on the flag-stones dully beat Within the centenarian cloister's pale The sacristy's small stove exudes its heat; Frost-flowers on the window glimmer frail. The trembling accents of our ancient priest Intone "Rorate" ... then the words expire. The organ's diapason hails the feast, With tuneful answers from the schoolboy-choir. The twisted pillar's golden-hued baroque Weighs on my soul with rich magnificence. The rising sun's gold rays in glory flock Upon the stained-glass window panes. A dizzying cloud of incense floats away; The candles yellow light is fluttering too. They bring, they lift, to consciousness today The well loved songs of Christmas. My childhood soul feels, understands and lives The expectation of a miracle, The holy magic that the moment gives Before cold sense exerts its fatal pull. . . Across the snowy page of cold despair My dreams return, brought back by reason's laws... Yet still I ask, in agonizing prayer: Where is the little boy, who once I was? Alex Domokos
GOOD FRIDAY The multitude hailed the Master When he entered the old City. Loud was the shout "Hosannah David!" It was the cry of destiny. "Crucify Him!" shouted the mob Just five days after jubilation. It was enough to change the mood Of admiration to condemnation. Alex Domokos
WEARING AWAY
I am slowly wearing away . . .
The stream of Time wears down
My sharp points and hurting edges.
Just like a river grinds the rock,
Chipping away the mighty block
Of white marble or black granite.
Rounded pebbles, different sizes,
Different colors, but no harsh edges.
No sharp points, cutting ledges,
To stab, to cut, to hurt, to kill.
I fit with others much better now.
Being a smooth and rounded pebble
We pave the river bed together.
The river Time flows without ending
Over pebbles which are resting.
Fitting pieces all together
Forming a mighty mosaic.
Images emerge as each piece
Fits together with smooth seams.
The parts create a single whole,
Fulfilling an eternal goal.
A universal destiny
Of neatly fitting harmony.
Alex Domokos
SEEKING ... I seek you high, I seek you low In summer nights or winter's snow. Above the clouds, below the earth, Upon my death, before my birth. My search may seem to some insane But human nature is my chain. I am not free to penetrate Beyond the present's tight shut gate. Somehow I feel before my birth I existed, though not on earth. And when my exit comes to me I will BECOME for ETERNITY. Alex Domokos
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Budapest
I remember:
The summers of Budapest,
the waves of the Danube
Splashing.
I remember:
Standing guard
At the ancient palace,
The old Taban,
Now life's discard.
I remember:
The Horvath gardens
Where old songs
No longer will be sung.
I remember:
The parliament at sunset.
Hanging upside down;
It's shadow in the mighty river.
Boats glidding past
With music coming from the decks.
Huvosvolhy, Zuglo
And Rozsadomb,
All of them
Scattered memories.
Even the chestnut trees
I once adored
have forgotten my footsteps.
Alex Domokos
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All written material copyright © 1987-2008 by Alex Domokos, Rita Toews or review contributors. All rights reserved. No poems, short stories, novels or other material may be copied from this site without the express written consent of Mr. Domokos.
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