Drift
Translated by Agnes Marton
You didn’t say anything
but he took it as a promise,
he took it as if you’d sailed so far from the shore
that you couldn’t see the way back.
Your life will be there
where you want to own everything,
you give names even to the plants,
and the names feel awkward
like pets’ dresses.
There will be kids as well,
they will cry,
in them, there’s still too much of the sea,
rockeries of the self
haven’t emerged yet out of them,
they are like water’s mirror,
when leaning above them
anybody can see their faces,
they are so young,
they always seem to take after
the person watching them right then.
It’s not monsters or
ghosts they are scared of
but animals that went extinct,
zebra-wolves,
Javan tigers,
barbary lions,
on their mind
those hide under the bed
and take revenge.
There will be happiness too,
spreading at an easy pace
like the heavy smell of food in the corridor
that is impossible to air out of your clothes
even after forgetting the taste.
You know,
there the time comes
when you don’t die yet,
only you won’t ever be awake at the same time
and you won’t be able to warn one another.
Like when you fall asleep after a long struggle
and the train stopping under your window
suddenly wakes you up,
and you are aware
the only passenger
is sound asleep
and he won’t be startled
when he should alight.
