Behind the Heart

I am also very heavy, sir.
The morning stabs into
my head every day,
even through my shut eyelids.
The days seem like
they cannot pass,
all of them are so
drawn out and fluctuant.

As if from a stiff body
dipped in oil,
hopes keep dripping off me
and pulling me slowly
towards the ground.

There is no arm, no mouth,
not even a back
to hide me.

I can see it clearing off again:
life is going to leave me alone.
And I am just sitting here with you,
lifting my glass,
just looking and waiting and
I don’t know what
to do, sir.

It is going to leave me alone,
I know. And later,
whatever it will give me,
however it will be trying to
compensate, I will
not be the same anymore,
I will never be myself again,
like when it first
let me go.

I am clearing off from myself too.
When I look back while walking,
I can see my own face
left behind me.

Look behind me, sir,
am I still standing there?
Just like a child,
without question,
I keep following myself,
but my legs are short,
and I cannot be moving
fast enough.

Life is passing
as if instead of ice
I would be the surface
that it’s trying to find leak on,
it’s cutting slits on me,
trying to reach inside me,
but its hands can’t reach
to the bottom of me.

Straighten up, sir,
the afternoon runs
behind your broad shoulders,
and the weight this body
pulls me with towards the chair
feels as if life would be pushing me
off of itself with two hands.

What’s jammed behind the heart, sir?
Anytime I sigh, someone
pushes my heart from behind,
it often makes even my chest quiver,
for this thing directly from behind my heart
keeps beating so hard.

translated by Nagy Hajnal Csilla

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