Poems of Ildikó Mecséri
Poems of Ildikó Mecséri
One drop of rain
It was but a tiny drop, insignificant, yet infintity fitted in it.
A small beetle quenches thirst, then flies through the trees to make them bear fruit.
Your heart is just as tiny and small, but Jesus finds in it a perfect home.
Your smile and act like a raindrop bring comfort to those in need.
And through you, wings grow.
Chance
You look far and wait for the answer. With a silent scream, you ask: why?
The answer is there, at the right time, in the right place, when a small piece of your soul fits into the big whole, and by this something better comes alive.
Fingerprint
8 billion imprints, the small map of fingers shows a unique version for everyone.
Strange curved lines on the tip of your finger, breaking here and there and running around,
Yours is different, mine is different, our destiny is different, and our path is different.
Yet our goal is the same:
to reach around, to make the place where our lives are moving more beautiful.
Bridge or judge
Will you be a bridge or a scale? Man, you are free; you can decide freely,
not like the tree branch into which the saw grafts its goal.
Will you be a cross, crying out: nail the miscreant?
Or will you rather be a bridge, helping people cross the land?
When you decide, first decide about yourself. But man, what is your wish?
Knock
Somebody is knocking; can you hear it? Is your heart still open to the sound?
Will your hand open the lock behind the iron bars of your mind?
What can I gain or what can I lose? You ask.
For both questions the answer is the same: everything.
Benedictus (Blessed)
A strange path is the path of the soul until you are built up into a spiritual house.
Your path first leads you down. You can’t find yourself among your scraps.of tile.
In mud and fire, one only stumbles blindly,
competes, destroys, and rivals, but cannot find herself, himself in the dark.
At the bottom of your path, when you bow down and all the needlessness falls from your soul, you can fit through the narrow gate. Only then will you pass through the narrow gate.
If you let it, God recreates you from the imperishable seed with blessed hands
by leading you on a path suffused with light.
Living water
The road was long; life is an uphill climb.
The loads on your back are now leadweight ripe.
Your youthful vigor and self-confident fervor
break on the long run, without perception.
Friends deceive you; the one you trusted leaves you.
You don't even notice that these have also changed you.
Hold on a little and turn onto the narrow path.
A hiking sign indicates, there is a spring nearby.
A shining cross is written here in your heart,
blow the dust off with your deep breath inside.
This hiking sign is the direction of your life.
the only direction that does not lead to death.
Mud throwers
One creates, the other blames,
raising his head, mocking and laughing.
He takes mud in his hands, spits on it, and kneads it,
with a grin on his face, throws it to the other.
Thousands of years have passed, but the game is the same,
man refuses to accept the gift that is real.
Many gather together to throw at the mud,
creased fists grinding hearts into hard stones.
You still have to decide: will you join the queue?
It doesn't look attractive; who stands the mud.
Stand it or throw it? His heart beats too.
One climbs high, onto a stand,
but where is the old man who threw the mud
to whoever invented the stand?
When the mud balls are drumming on the backs,
many of them reach for a ball of mud themselves.
Earth is a mud ball; mud is the man,
but it is an azure ocean from above.
Two thousand years ago, there was only one who stood,
his life-giving advice still echos in your soul.
Poor mud throwers didn't understand the point,
they took vinegar with them under the cross,
and exchanged their eternal life for sand.
The mud was burned to their hands in the sun,
at last, it became a hard seal against them.
There are only a few left who stands the mud,
who were able to stand still and didn't throw it back.
Embers
Dust sits on the ember,
to forget its secret.
Dust sits on the ember,
to forget its purpose.
Who sent it and why, it doesn't let dawn,
make all its smoldering heat fade away.
Heaven's gift, victorious grace,
revealing his mask in its shiny mirror.
Dust is just a mask, the dust of fear,
no embers were ruled by the dust of the earth.
Poems of Éva Mecséri
Timeless
Beyond time,
beyond the minute,
nice memories
what do they say?
Over the time far behind,
where is your word going now?
The moon tells tales,
as landscape does.
Where you go,
what do you find?
What you lock forever
in your heart.
If you could know
If you could know what I hold in my hand,
If you could know what you see in my eyes,
If you could know where my thoughts fly,
I’m scudding on the wings of flying time.
Am I waiting for the spring or the winter time?
What do the wonders of the seasons say about?
Something about? Why am I so joyful now?
Why is the sky so lovely when the sun shines?
Or the dim light of a raindrop, I can look inside.
If you could know…
If you could know who holds me in His hand.
If you could know…!
Loving
Who do I love?
What do I love?
If I love,
I glorify.
With a loving heart
I raise up.
All in one
There comes a time for everything
the wheel of time goes around.
A flowing stream of minutes in our hands,
keeps moving forward.
There comes a time for everything
the start of hope and danger.
Passing time, in the light of truth,
it's all already written there,
and do you go back to the future?
Essence
The point here is,
how the lights run.
Fates, hopes,
if I always hope,
you are by me on my way.
You can't say that
You can't say: in no way,
as there will always be a way.
You can't say either way,
as existence is anyway.
You can't say soever
if you perceive your fault.
If you stand there aimlessly,
you can't say you can wait.
What we don't know
you can't say.
But you can learn,
if you want.
It's up to you
What’s up to me,
is up to you.
Get on it!
Let’s go!
The responsibility
is up to us.