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The Restaurant Keeper

In the City of Toronto there was once
a restaurant owned by a man named Imre Finta.
Born in 1912 in Austria-Hungary, Finta spent
his years of youth in my hometown Szeged,
immigrating to Canada after the Second World War.

Settling in Toronto, in 1953 Finta bought
the Candlelight Restaurant but it did not go well,
so he closed it. Then he opened The Moulin Rouge
on Avenue Road at DuPont Street.
The old fashioned Hungarian gentleman greeted
his guests warmly, politely kissing the right hand
of his female patrons.

I had never dined at the Moulin Rouge
but I encountered Finta in a brickyard and
at the railway station of Szeged in the summer
of 1944. At that time I was eight years old
and Finta, aged 32, was a Captain
of the Royal Hungarian Gendarmerie.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Hartal
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You can't undo a deportation.

quote by Jonathan Shapiro
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The word nobody wants to use, but you see if you are here illegally, that's the punishment, deportation.

quote by Tom Tancredo
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Spring and summer 1942 was probably the worst period of internal terror in Slovakia. It was also the time of mass deportation of Slovak Jews to the extermination camps in Poland.

quote by Alexander Dubcek
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The Rhythm Of Ritsos

family
tragedies
reflec
ted in the mir
ror
no error

a nice
stay in the
tuber
culosis
war
d.

a political
engage
ment
against
a dicta
tor

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Arresting and detaining these dangerous people can make sense, at least until a final decision is reached on their deportation. However, such detention must always be subject to time limits and court review.

quote by Otto Schily
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Emily Hobhouse

I

How suddenly you changed a moment
from what it was before
and you had a kind of talent
to change everything, improving it
and bit by bit
the pain and suffering was no more.

II

Tending with caring hands
you brought a kind of refuge
to women and children
in British concentration camps
during the Anglo-Boer war
even defying arrest and deportation.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Enjoy the bends, forget the end.

A king, whether in exile, banishment,
deportation or dethroned ceases to be a king but he can pride himself on the past glory,
and can reminisce about it.
A lover, whether a loser, a blighted,
A deserted or a deprived ceases to be a lover but he can pride himself on the past glory and can reminisce about it.

Love may not lead to happy ends.
But definitely it has happy bends.
22.04.2001, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ode To Loneliness

that has been, was so raven
that you were hugging vanity
for the deportation of death
as a living;

fake predicates of a genius
like words falling as bucketfuls
of lies,

back to back coffer dams
collapsing, submerging

seers’ sarcophagi,

and the annual rings were becoming
deeper, mossed in misery,
his book of moon blackened,

goodbye, the dark unsinkable,
I am going to be reborn

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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Baby Face

Why did not you
cross the black river
and remained innocent?
Unhealed, failed inside, broken and honest?

You won the race,
the space, the heaven.
Moving away to the farthest blackness.
Your god sits crosslegged, clotting.

Brown hands on white shoulders, boneless
move in circle. Deportation
of words opens the green wounds.
Birds carry the snow on the wings.

I was confused, wanted to love
my broken vowels, for absolute you and me.
The baby face pops up again
in my perfection, speechless.

poem by Satish Verma
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