XVII

111

Otrok

Ten Chalupka to vystihol takmer presne,
keď vyhlásil v texte svojej slávnej básne,
že lepšie je nebyť, ako byť otrokom.
Ja jeho slová len upresním dodatkom
z vlastnej skúsenosti, že lepšie je nebyť,
než byť otrokom lásky a márne ľúbiť.

112

Value

I’ve got no value within my family,
nor for anyone outside of it, sadly.
I’m only of value at my work, really,
so that’s what I’ll now live for, preferably.

113

If you pray for me

Don’t pray that I eventually
may find the love of some good dude.
Pray that I may find happiness
and fulfillment in solitude.

114

The one who always hides

I saw that post today — of you hiding your
face behind a sign with company logo.
For removing yourself from social sites so
determinately in order to “fight your
addiction to them”, you are forgoing that
resolution quite easily. I knew you
wouldn’t stay away for long. And lately you
have become quite daring — wouldn’t you say that? —
popping back up in the company’s photos,
which are out of focus deliberately,
here and there again just occasionally.
You know I still look at them. Do you suppose
I won’t recognize your shoes, your pants, your shirt,
your posture, your back, your hands, or your blurred face
with the raven black hair? Or is it a case
when you momentarily nearly revert,
trying to get me to react to them since
I haven’t done so, neither posted any
of my poems publicly in so many
weeks (two months)? Or am I again, per some chance,
reading too much into it? I dare say not.
We both know I’m hitting the nail, like many
times before. It’s so odd I suspect, honey,
you’re not over (the fear of) me either yet.

115

Waiting

I would never say waiting is time lost.
Why would it? Well, of course, it would be if
I had better things to do or a host
of other people (or at least someone)
wanting to spend the time with me instead.
But I’ve never had that. Moreover, my
biological clock is broken — dead
even perhaps — so I’ve never felt the
pressure of it ticking away either.
Time’s of no account to me. Thus, if it’s
motivated by genuine ardor,
I don’t think waiting is a waste of time.

116

Supposedly adult

The calendar and people around me
accuse me that I am now an adult
and so I should behave accordingly,
immunely to emotional tumult.

Yet the truth is that deep down I’m still but
a little girl who likes to walk on curbs,
shuffle in leaves piles to break the rut
of boring adult walks through the suburbs,

crack ice on frozen puddles in winter
for the same reason, and pop bubble wrap
when she has the chance and none watches her.
I also like to draw, paint, and just stab

at various creative mediums
to make gifts for others. In addition,
I’m someone who often randomly hums
and sings in the shower (songs that caption

my current feelings) or during cleaning
the flat. I like dancing quite a lot too.
Unfortunately, I’m not engaging
in most of that as much as I’d like to

as I no longer have enough time nor
opportunities because, well, you know,
life happens — with job and chore after chore —
and great decline of will due to love-woe.

117

The stupidest thing in the world

Love is the stupidest thing in the world ever
and that’s undeniably true
’cause if it wasn’t — if it was reasonable,
I wouldn’t be in love with you.