LOGBOOK OF A LOST CARAVAN
Only the compass, keeping hope alive,
stuttered on, uttering its paralyzed
directions; with something somewhere beyond
to which to respond.
And for another long day
We struggled ahead through desert sand
Then to the edge of stone cliffs
covered with hieroglyphs,
Line after line, incoherent, they read-
wrinkles on some mad forehead.
An ancient age
struggled there in desperate tones-
With nothing more to say-
And only the wind moans.
Sand in our eyes, Between sweating fingers, and
ground between teeth, sand.
We slaughtered the camel who knew the way...
had our final meal today.
by: Gyula Illyes 1902 - 1983
Translation from the Hungarian by William Jay Smith