EVERYBODY HAS A DEATH ALL HIS OWN

(translated by Brigitte Orešnik)

I am still here

like a how-do-you-do in an empty room,

suitably dressed, with a suitable hair-do,

with everything I wanted,

and did not want in my life.

And with the mourning on the other side of the mound.

Death does not come. We carry it with us,

I, and you, and he.

Everybody has a death all his own

at the end of the road,

his flowers,

sky,

and love.

I knew him and loved him.

Now he has left,

through a door,

along a road,

with a death all his own.

And I am here –

like a how-do-you-do in an empty room

carrying inside me death.

And the mourning on the other side of the mound.