by Maria Bertalan

Created on: February 22, 2010

I hear the hiss of the wind, and swear-word of people,
Brings me they curse with wizened leaves of trees.
Street mob groups pounce strengthening their fists,
They fingers pointing on me  furiously, bloodthirsty .

The carpenter is opposite eagerly struck his first nail.
He produces the scaffold from pine smelly lumber .
I don’t know that can I turn my head to right or to left,                              

I carry one of my shoulder a Jew star and on other a cross rest.

Both party addressed,and htreat me with hard stones,
There are some who spit on me, other wipe with cloth.
Can I expect - someone finally understands my intention?
I want peace, love, harmony,  these three are in my action !

Few people want  listen to  me, but the loudests,
Out voice those who are sighing sound of peace.
Crack of the stick that they just broke above me,
With one giant death rumble of the crowd toss on me.

Can I enter; I have to go in my own bloody destiny?

On Stations of the Cross, some eyes shining with pity.
I'm  in the center as exclamation point in middle,
While criticism cleaves whip up my skin what is wisp ...

They want to clean their blood -wet fingers with forward lick   .
I try to get the granted death blindly, and  in peace .
Because if not,-a new agony and revenge will be woven.
Yelling from pulpit ,and dress in rich like cardinal silk .

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