Thoughtful, hands behind my back,
I walk between the rails
the straightest way
there is.
From behind me
at great speed
comes a train
that knows nothing of me.
This train
(old Zeno is my witness)
will never reach me
for I am always a little ahead
of things that don’t think.
And even if brutally
it runs me over
there will always be someone
to walk ahead of it,
his head full of things,
hands behind his back.
Someone like me,
now,
while the black monster
approaches horribly fast
and will never
catch up with me.
Notes
Translated by Michael Hamburger
“The Way” from Selected Poems by Marin Sorescu, translated by Michael Hamburger. Published in 1983 by Bloodaxe Books.
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