Petri György: Összeomlás

No, there was no explosion,
just a collapse.
It, ground from inside,
misleading others by cheating itself,
terrorizing with pretence,
disintegrated without a sound.

Can we anymore think of  --

Can the stupid guardian of the vapid bath water,
cast down by doubt from the beginning,
who gave up even the right for doubting,
-- the bath water in which there was a baby at all? --
think of the liberation?

Can one imagine anything like that who saw it,
disintegrating without a sound,
separating in a softer way
than bodies after lovemaking,
than flesh will once do from our bones?

It just slipped apart without a sound,
nails softly slipped through rotted beams,
bricks decayed as marl or potash,
they gave up their porous dry structure,
as a depraved horde,
when there is no point in resisting --
barrage and shells beating the ground,
ridiculous superiority
beating the empty air,
like the rain, the rain, the rain.

No, there was no explosion, just a collapse.
Only for long, very long,
did the wet, dense dust
settle down thronging.
Or rather, is there nothing else, only this thronging?
The wet, bulging scramble?

Disintegration of the built world.