I wrote the bulk of this while in Hungary as a teenage tourist from New Zealand. My family and I took a three-week trip during Easter and I was enamoured by all the sights and senses, frantically documenting all I could write and draw in my sketchbook. When I read the poem, I can't help but feel the rhythm, music and excitement behind my words. It isn't perfect, but it's very dear to my heart. Read this to be a tourist with me in a pre-covid Spring.

 

The Colours of Hungary

 

Checkered tablecloths,

Polished marble floors,

Roses, fine wines

And exteriors of stores.

Medieval silk, the history of battles,

Dotted in gardens, sour cherry and candles.

A spice of colour is paprika; 

it’s dusting my dinner in a soft reddish haze. 

It’s calling from rooftops and rusty old gates

Red streaks across the flag of Hungary.

 

Terracotta of the times,

Evening skies,

Brick walls,  arches and doorways

Wander at night

To witness the light

From buildings and bridges glowing so bright,

Or follow the trails

Gothic street lamps emit,

Orange, the sign of civilisation.

 

Served to my table

Cheese and lemonade,

Deliciously fresh - only just being made.

Newly displayed

Are pretzels and pastries; 

Busily racing

Are bees, trams and taxies.

Brightening scenery in gardens and buildings,

An added beauty in gleaming gold gilding:

Statues and art glimmering,

Fine jewellery shimmering.

Threading, dishes, and treasures galore

Shining untarnished from centuries before.

Find decorative yellow

Adorning Hungary.

 

From the youngest of leaves just beginning to show

And walls hugged by ivy that's well overgrown,

To the old weathered verdigris,

Mould chomping metal,

Is the telling of age

All throughout the country.

It renders the palm leaf

In Liberty’s hand,

The symbol of peace

All throughout the land.

It speeds along rails in the form of the trains

It rolls along Buda’s hilly terrains

It colours the Danube

On clear sunny days

Green too streaks across

The flag of Hungary.

 

A reward from above

When no clouds are in view,

Though sadly not quite

The hue of the Danube.

It travels by bus,

Touches decorative glass,

Easter ceramics,

Then trains as they pass.

Blue is the Wisdom

And Peace of Hungary.

 

Ever so subtle,

The youth of the country.

A touch of young life

As it’s born in the Spring,

Gracing the gardens

And scenting the air.

At night it then blooms

To flavour the city:

Modern, flashy light,

It’s fun while it lasts.

Purple: a break from history.
 

Down falls the delicate

Rain of springtime:

The blossoms that tumble,

Gently carried by wind.

And tulips speak out

With their luminous mouths,

They open their petals

And greet the sunshine.

When the day starts to fade,

The sky is one great flower;

Pink renders the beautiful

Preciousness of time.

 

Bright is the haze of daytime in the city

As is the light at nighttime striking buildings.

Trails drawn by jet planes, 

Chalk lines in the sky.

Sprinkled spring blossoms,

A path where they lie.

Rest your eyes on the beauties

Carved out of stone:

Kingdoms, buildings, 

And statues alone.

Then look up once more,

And standing tall

White streaks across the flag of Hungary.

 

A medieval overlay

Swoops over today.

Historical touches,

The gnarled gothic edges,

Of lamp posts, flag poles,

Door handles and fences.

As dark as the crows’ wings,

Feathered shadows in flight,

Black echoes the past

Etched into today.

 

Wafting from the market

The air starts to sweeten-

Gingerbread and chimney cake

Wait to be eaten.

Behold the grand oak trees

And carts pulled by horses,

And classical tunes

Flowing on through the centuries.

Don’t forget brown

Bringing softly its pride.

 

The dusty old palette

For bodies of crows

And foreshadowing rain

That never once showed.

For cobblestones spiralling down the lane

Grey leads us the way

To where Hungary awaits.