Rearview Mirror Poem by Kinga Fabo

One helped me into this life I wonder is there
someone to help me out of it and how?
Will it happen, take place without assistance…?

Will I cocoon myself with a complication?
The bad machine stops.
How long will I be dragging it out?

Why does someone not push me forward?
My mother's labour took her days
Did she not want to let me go? Am I too slow to change?

Worms. Cooling scattered limbs.
I have no strength to collect them.
Night and day, for company, a flask of oxygen.

To breathe, together like this, the souls are whispering.
I barely hear it, although it does sound like an approbation…
To breathe! No air: the organs of the soul

do not work within me. Is this why souls whisper?
Is this why there are so many? Are they helping?Fleeing?
Does it happen, takes place by itself…?

I have released myself by now.
Would even change surroundings, get cocooned again.
I would not spend time on the openness of questions.

It does not entreat me to stay. It wants to see me leave life.
I do not glance back.
It wants to see me leave life, extends no welcome.

It does not hold me back or push me forward.
In it I do not see what is behind me.
Although they do say, that flashes by the eyes.

(Translated by Leslie A. Kery)