Kodály race
Kodály-futam
your poem is either satanic or of the light of neon
like the twilight of a pub on a sofa
among naked vibrations teen keyboard
Kodály changed steps in the brouhaha
I am lending out of stitched sixth sense
- the well-combed tune with a receipt
my ashamed hand into your disguised pixel
and the four-sixths between the lines that pinch the ears - on paper the watermark leaves a mark
depressed pebbles in my pocket
they get togather with a tropical donor heart
and in the vision an authentic workshop secret
your lovely melody keeps me in vain here to be
I carved Kodály from the broken branches
and your wicked appearance spoke to me
on the street front of the keyboard it speaks hunches
my boisterous gaze embalmed your visage - my target is shattering into pieces
a Kodály voice’s price can’t be high
if the half of some dirty words decreases
I am the celebrator of the recent races’ magnificence - I am getting vacant – the new existence is ready
at the costume party I’ve changed instruments
because Kodály cannot be presented as mockery
Manolis Aligizakis 