Soul would perish or body?
Or both simultaneously?
Or would two different deaths
come separately and catch?
I thought to myself it shouldn't.
It should send no warning signs.
Let it yet remain a secret.
Let it remain outside.
It has occupied my ego.
I can see out no more.
No secret, it doesn't know.
Why should it from me withhold?
Will I die? Won't I die?
I am dying but still alive.
I thought it would percieve me.
I thought it would have an insight.
Have I died? Am I dying?
Should I myself decide?
I thought it would listen to me.
I thought it would send warning signs.
It could do so - I've got four ears.
Four, just like a prime-androgyne.
When four ears prick themselves,
there will happen no tragedy.
(Translated by Katalin N. Ullrich)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem