I see them …
They enter the dark room
as if crossing the border
without a passport.
There they take off
their masks,
as if removing skin.
They whisper,
speak in hoarse voices,
they cough.
Then they seem to agree.
The whole thing is becoming suspicious
Their faces slip
further and further
slide down to the ground
and trickle away …
They stamp on them,
unable to recognise them.
.
.
I watch them …
before they go out,
hurrying
to stick the masks
to what remains of their faces.
They seem bountiful and gentle.
Their smiles give off a perfume.
They are stuck in their stiff clothing
and seem directed by remote control.
.
.
I am one of these corpses
who stupidly watch,
remain lifelessly silent,
captivated
by a flood of distracting images.
In my head
my mind returns
to thinking about the interval
when they’d taken off
those masks.
Translated by: Peter Waugh