sprawled out on the bed with his mouth open,
a light-winged ghost (who else?)
carefully planted another watchful cell – glued a bugging device
to his uvula.
Now even his internal speech
will be known: all of his revolutionary intentions
and the train of his restless thoughts will be revealed
in minute detail. Only two choices remain
to the lucky one: to shrug
his shoulders, wring his hands, and all-the-while speak
words of praise
in dull submissiveness, or to grow to love
deathly silence with an overlong life
under a paralyzed tongue. In the spanking clean
hallways of the Clinic
let’s pray for him, sigh a broken sigh.
by Novica Tadić (b. 1949)
Translated by Steven and Maja Teref
