Brane Mozetič

1958 / Ljubljana

What happened?

What happened? I went on
a night-time stroll to some sort of reservation,
alternative forces from a pathetic nation
to which I belong, and look, it carried me
here and there. In darkness they sipped
beer, talked, yelled, some of them
jumping around wildly on the dance floor.
It stank of grass, two dealers
poked me in the ribs, what should I buy.
Then I said to myself, maybe
something nice will come along. I had already
spent half my life trying to
stay alive to perhaps discover the mystery
of life! Now I've wandered off
among the young so that I would forget
fruitless efforts, and here was a boy
who was only waiting to drug himself
unconscious. I pushed the pill in
his hand and laughed.
I knew that I could not remain
sober. He got higher,
rolling his eyes, grinding his teeth
and spoke with great difficulty.
He stuck to my heels and our silence
amidst head-pounding music,
moved me. I don't know how we came
home, but there I was lying next to him.
He slept, night outside, and I
could not fall asleep. So I got dressed,
stepped out between the houses and the streets.
Only then did I realize it was snowing,
the ground covered. I looked up.
Under the beams of the street lamps I saw
snowflakes flying towards me,
everything spinning, so beautiful
that all questions became completely
meaningless.

Translation: 2003, Elizabeta Žargi and Timothy Liu
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