Five Haikus

Ripens sweet fragrance,
makes its fruits grow and gain weight -
as the Moon’s mask grows.

I’m forced on the shore
by brackets of holidays:
the world in-between.

Moon’s rising upwards,
I can’t follow it that high:
drags its solitude.

Neither swaggering,
nor in all submissiveness,
though it’s uncommon.

It’s throwing fake pearls
- just a fountain not a spring -
tears being stamped out.

(Translated by N. Ullrich Katalin)