Cancer Poem by Kinga Fabo

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)