Salt has it easy

Is your flat still
very far away, sir?
I’m cold in this
broken night,
and it is hard to step
while I shiver.

We need something
so we do not feel
anything at all.
These pains should be
scraped out somehow.
Maybe if the world would
cut a leak on me and pull
everything out.
Maybe if this body could be emptied out,
turned out of itself,
the soul would also
finally come out too already.

Sometimes I stand around at the station
looking at the smiling women,
as they laugh, walk, talk
in their pretty dresses,
and then I think that maybe
one day they will be lined up,
all of them stripped naked,
and who knows what they will do to them
before their execution.
Sometimes all I can see is
disrupted bodies everywhere,
and I’m trying to find the spot
where hope cracks,
where the death will
step and be stuck between
the days.

There is not enough beauty,
not enough reality
for me to let go of the
dreams, sir.
I often keep my
eyes shut all day,
everything is easier that way.

Because everything keeps
washing, pulling and whipping us,
just like the sea, you have to
stand with empty hands and let it be,
so we get used to the punches.
Because we slowly get used to everything
that’s how simple people are.

The sea, sir, the sea
is what slowly eats everything off
of us. We just have to hang
our legs and arms into the water,
and the salt will slowly
burn everything off
that it needs.
Salt has it easy.
It paints the body white when taken out
of the water, sparks in the sunlight,
and splits.

That’s how I soaked
my father into the sea,
but I hang him into the water for nothing,
he didn’t get smaller,
his shadow didn’t fade.
He just stood there, straight
as an arrow, immersed in water and waited
for me to look into his eyes,
and get used to him being dead.

He was waiting for my gaze,
to find his eyes
and finally unleash him from myself.

translated by Nagy Hajnal Csilla

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