From “Космополис / Kozmopolis / Cosmopolis”, Blesok, 2010.
Listen well: is that the trumpet call? The cavalry
rides through history. The shadow of an ancient battle
wants to be the truth again. A distant stairway winds toward a cloud.
Mountains fall, a chalice trembles. Emptiness spills over
the edge. Yet you, miraculously, grow faster than you can be
destroyed. A titmouse will not leave its nest. The west wind
tempts you with redemption in a hollowed loaf of bread
at the Last Supper. A broken toy. More children are missing.
Yet you endure. You interrupt the world’s monologue, its endless drone.
You’re the flickering snow on the screen, which is always on. The vault
of the universe above you is crystal clear. The rest of us
stare helplessly into the cold prison of the stars. We watch a finger
rise from the flame flickering behind your back, which never consumes you.
And on the arch of the sky the finger writes, tirelessly, “I am.”
Translated by: Aleš Debeljak & Christopher Merrill