Below the grey skies,
inside the magnificent buildings,
and below the asphalt
lies the tormented soul of the
Great City
A forgotten empire
Still beautiful
Like an old baroness
lying on her deathbed,
reaching for the glorious past.
Stoic, accepting, graceful in life,
graceful in death..
When crossing the Danube
the ghosts of the past
Caress your skin
and possess your soul.
To dance with them, they beg,
an eternal waltz,
an ethereal symphony
the waltz of nostalgia.
Below the asphalt I found him,
Forgotten soul, wrapped in blankets,
alone with his spirit.
We communicated easily, speaking
in strange tongues,
and I exchanged cigarettes and money
for wisdom.
�This is Hungary democratic�
he said as he pointed to himself.
The ghosts of the Danube inside him,
had perished.
The quiet tears of the Great City,
I sensed when I walked the narrow streets,
And beneath me I felt,
the passion of man
lighting the candle of revolution
to reclaim lost dignity.
Thousands of miles away,
I can always hear the ghosts of the Danube
calling me back,
and I want to be with them again,
dancing the eternal waltz,
and drinking sweet Tokaj wine
in the Great City.
Fivos R Drymiotis, 2005