NOTHING REMAINS. As if under a millstone.

NOTHING REMAINS. As if under a millstone.
Crushed. Ravaged. Expelled.

My seed is rowing through the air. I present
a splendid opportunity to get to know hollowness,

to see desire and zeal anchored in a dot.
I feel furious and impotent: why should

this happen? Lovers shriveled and parched
like the landscape. Given up to emptiness.

Their hollow bodies fly over the meadows
in bloom. There they are regularly reaped

by a hunter prone to voyeurism. While his
seed is sprinkled around, the shadows

of lovers veil his body. He’s gone. Ice
glides along earth and enters breathing.

Later, water enters bodies.
A little longer life can be endured. I know.

I feel to blame for everything. I feel a deep
grief, a disappointment for not being able

to do something. Take, for instance, you.
When you loved me I was indifferent, though. Like

a river. Indifferent to its banks. Caressing
them secretly. Declaring nothing. A tacit

intercourse. Occasional sparks. Then banks
collapse. All is a lake now. No boundaries. No thrills.

A triumph of indifference. A muteness of love.
Where’s my bank, says the river, says the lake.

You’ve surrounded me from all sides. I can’t recognize
your body any more. What went wrong? Bodies

are born by night, and die by day. Night people
don’t recognize day people. Thin, icy waters

flow along borderlines. At daybreak, women
bend over them and weep. The warmth of their tears

will make waters passable. Once in a while a beam
of light twinkles in the eye of a woman. She extends

her hand and touches her lover’s thigh. He begins
to shiver. Her hand slides inside his body,

grabs his heart and plucks it out. The cold border
runs again. The lover shrivels and calls for help.

In vain. No one will ever come to see him there,
on the other side. Except for cold bodies

of other mutilated lovers, left to a growing
indifference. The training of loneliness.

Inhaling the remnants of themselves,
the remnants of their love.

A way out. Being an imitation
of love. Impersonate someone’s inner life.

Here they come. A solidarity in mutual defeat.
Silent caressing and futile

tapping on the shoulder.
An immaculate gaze full of longing.

Hearts unable to beat.

NOTHING REMAINS. As if under a millstone.

BEZ OSTATAKA. KAO iz žrvnja.
Zdrobljen. Izmožden. Istjeran.

Moje sjeme vesla zrakom. Ja sam
zrela prilika da se upozna šupljina,

da se žudnja i polet usidre u točci.
Bijesan sam i nemoćan: zašto se

sve ovo događa? Ljubavnici su se
smežurali i isušili poput krajobraza.

Njihova šuplja tijela nadlijeću rascvale
livade. Tu ih redovito požanje lovac

sklon sladogleđu. Dok se njegovo
sjeme rasprskava, sjene ljubavnika

zastru njegovo tijelo. Nema ga više.
Zemljom klizi led i zasijeca disanje.

U tijela se potom ulije voda i još
malo se otrpi život sve dok ne. Znam.

U sve stavljam udio vlastite krivnje.
Još se ništa nije dogodilo a da ne bih

osjetio tugu, razočaranje što ništa
nisam mogao učiniti. Kao, recimo, to

s tobom. Dok si me voljela, bio sam
ravnodušan prema tvojoj ljubavi.

Kao rijeka. Ravnodušna prema svojim
obalama. Potajice ih miluje. Ništa

ne iskazuje. Prešutni snošaj. Povremeno
iskrenje. A onda se obale uruše.

Sve je sad jezero. Nema više granica. Nema
uzbuđenja. Trijumf nezainteresiranosti.

Nijemost ljubavi. Gdje je sada moja obala,
pita rijeka, pita jezero.

Stežeš se sa svih strana, više ti ne raspoznajem
tijelo. Što se dogodilo? Tijela

se rađaju noću a danju umiru. Noćni narod ne
poznaje danji. Granicama teku tanke, studene

vode. U zoru, nad njih se nagnu žene i plaču
ne bi li ih toplinom svojih suza učinile

prohodnima. Ponekad mlaz svjetlosti zablista
u oko žene. Ispruži ruku i dotakne ljubavnikovo  

bedro. On zadrhti. Ruka joj potom uklizne u
njegovu nutrinu, ščepa srce i iščupa ga. Opet

poteče granica studeni. Ljubavnik se smežura
i uzalud zove upomoć. Nitko mu više neće

doći u onkraj. Osim hladnih tijela drugih
osakaćenih ljubavnika, prepuštenih ravnodušnosti.

Vježbanju samoće. Udisanju ostataka
samih sebe, ostataka vlastite ljubavi.

Izlaz? Biti epigon vlastite ljubavi.
imitirati nečiji unutarnju život.

Evo ih, stižu. Solidarnost u međusobnoj poraženosti.
Tiha milovanja i tapšanja bez značenja.

Nepomućeni pogledi puni čežnje.
Srca nemoćna da zalupaju.