The Meat That Doesn’t Rot

Like an abandoned pavilion in which a family of lions
lazes around, a pillar that doesn’t support anything and
a square with which the stone opens into a window,
like a piece of meat from which blood was washed out
with saliva. We used to dream and it used to be as if
it hadn’t been in a dream, as if the truly escaped beasts
and the domestic cats had fled together with them. Done,
and now there is nothing else one could do not to be so.
Finished, although it still lasts like food in the stomach.

New, brand-new and incomparable, as if it was born
without a mother in the water that has flourished, in the air
that has burst into pieces similar to butterflies so forcefully
that what came into being thereafter could never forget that
at least once it knew for sure that it would never be able
to disappear by itself, but with the help of us who, now that
we are here, want to feel on our tongue the meat that doesn’t rot.

Meso koje ne propada

Meso koje ne propada

Kao napušten paviljon u kojem se izležava obitelj
lavova, stup koji ne podupire i kvadrat kojim se otvara
kamen u prozor, kao komad mesa iz kojeg se slinom
isprala krv. Sanjali smo i bilo je kao da nije bilo
u snu, kao da su stvarno odbjegle zvijeri i domaće
mačke se odmetnule zajedno s njima. Učinjeno,
i sad se više ništa ne može učiniti da ne bude tako.
Dovršeno, premda još traje kao hrana u trbuhu.

Novo, potpuno novo i neprispodobivo, kao rođeno
bez majke u vodi koja se rascvjetala, u zraku
koji se razletio u komade slične leptirima tako
silovito da ono što se stvorilo poslije toga nikada
nije moglo zaboraviti da je barem jednom znalo
sasvim sigurno da nikada neće moći nestati samo
od sebe, nego uz pomoć nas koji, kad smo već tu,  
želimo osjetiti na svojem jeziku meso koje ne propada.