If they never came It they never came Why do you despair? Your house had no doors On which to knock Nor halls for afternoon strolls. Mother, tell me, What are we doing here, standing In this dusty night? Buses, full of death, speed by. Drunks in sweaty shirts Belch and ejaculate alone. Only those who live in forgotten towns Know the closeness of death, The stench of loneliness, The mask of boredom. Translated by Rowena Hill