Traslated by Yana Nikolova
If a war started, would someone say “go”?
Would there be people who track
whether everyone’s dying fair and square?
Would poisonous gas be banned, so that
people get killed by humane machine guns,
by bombs, smarter than the nations’ leaders,
by tanks, more brutal than Mondays?
Would peace rallies be held
where war doesn’t
eat kids for breakfast?
Would people convene
to decide the fate of peoples?
What would they discuss?
Who would count the corpses,
or would the count be an estimate?
Would all of us die,
or nobody important?
How far would
the nearest humanity be?
Would we know it
when we come across it?
Hopefully not in a long movie about killing;
a documentary on the fight for the mortal remains
of some long extinct species.
To write is dumb: like a watch without a battery
that nobody even looks at.
To be read is different: like a timer of a bomb
that by its nature goes off on time.
To be understood is a utopia and suggests
that you yourself know what you’re talking about.
When in fact you’re just fighting off time by writing
so that you remain something more
than breathing and ceasing
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