Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation.
|Unnamed Boy in Memento Park
The young boy stood there among the others,
Lenin on the left, Red Star on the right,
not quite forgotten, not quite lamented,
just put away.
He remembered the day
when his creator released him
from where he was hiding deep in the stone
and the years of standing silently proud
as wreaths garnished his feet and garlands
of flowers filled untiring arms.
He missed their sweet fragrance
and the shouts of glee from those thousands,
who marching, saluted his gay array.
Then one night they carried him away,
not to bury him as some great hero,
not to spit upon him in disgust,
just to place him here among those who were greater,
to gather moss or rust.
He lets cold rain cleanse his face of dark thoughts
as he sees the old lady with the umbrella,
she who still searches for something lost.
Will she remember and whisper his name.
Kare Enga [177.13] (31.mars.2020)
Note: Memento park is outside BudaPest. It is the resting place for statues that are no longer politically correct.