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Without Warning

Andrej Hočevar (2013)

I don’t know when
it began. It happened without
any warning. With everything
the same, only different. It doesn’t matter
if you look to the horizon
or the next corner;
you discover men and women
trying to impress
one another, here and there
maybe a dog. The light
hesitates barely perceptibly
before touching and
uniting me with the others.
The ground at my feet
sways differently,
when I part the water, it disintegrates
into a thousand droplets. I never
thought I would ever find myself
here. Where so many have been
before me. I don’t even know
most of them. A few have swept the rubbish
away, making room for
new habits and successes,
while others have changed nothing.
Just marched in their own direction,
only now with their lips compressed tight.
I probably missed
the right exit. Or else the right exit
just isn’t meant for some people.
In that case, I tell myself,
close your eyes and have a good look around.
Inhale and mix in some air.
Think of your cares and then think them away.
Your accomplishments are modest,
stretched out at your back
like a lazy dog. You can’t
count on them now.
If something goes wrong,
you’ll have to catch your balance
some other way.
The sky has calmed down
and climbed into its bed.
Look how it rests,
cold-bloodedly creeping closer and closer.
Soon it will open its eyes again,
bend a leg and set foot on the ground,
as if it couldn’t care less.
That’s where the border will be. People will be
there. And you’ll always be there,
only here.


Aus dem Slowenischen von Michael Biggins

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