A poem on theater

As the curtain goes up on the space that dwarfs man, hundreds of keen eyes pierce the hollow of the stage. Phenomena rustle there inside, glowing in an illumined night, colors grow lovelier, metallic, palaces of words spring up. The play draws us irresistibly, and leaving we look at one another, because in the other we see that gentle one who was king in the play.

Translated from the Hungarian by Jascha Kessler with Maria Korosy