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THE LAST BUS
Midnight. The last bus.
The conductor cuts the ticket.
Neither a bad news is waiting for me at home,
nor a feast of raki.
For me, it's departure that waits.
I walk towards it without fear
and sadness.
The great dark comes very near by me.
I can look at the world
calmly and at ease, now.
No longer surprises me a friend's treachery,
a knife stabbed in a handshake.
It's in vain, the enemy can't provoke me now.
I passed through the forest of idols
using my axe
how easily they all came down.
I tested the things I believe in, once more,
most of them turned out pure, I'm thankful.
I had never shone so brilliantly,
never been so free.
The great dark comes very near by me.
I can look at the world
calmly and at ease, now.
I raise my head from my work to look around,
suddenly comes from the past
a word
a smell
the gesture of a hand.
The word is friendly,
the smell beautiful,
the hand is waved by my love.
The call of memory no longer makes me sad.
I have no complaints of memories.
I don't complain of anything, in fact,
not even of my heart
aching nonstop like a big tooth.
The great dark comes very near by me.
Now neither the minister's pride nor the clerk's claptrap.
I'm pouring bowls of light over my head,
I can look at the sun without my eyes dazzling.
And perhaps, what a pity,
the most cunning lie
will no longer deceive me.
Words can't make me drunk anymore,
neither anyone else's, nor my own.
That's how it is, my rose,
death now is awfully close to me.
The world, is more beautiful than ever, the world.
The world, was my underwear, my clothes,
I started undressing.
I was the window of a train,
now I'm a station.
I was the inside of the house,
now I'm its door unlocked.
I love the guests twice as much.
And the heat is yellower than ever
the snow purer than ever.
Prague, 21 July 1957
tr. by Fuat Engin