The Fly

A free translation of one of my favourite poems by Mexican poet Rubén Bonifaz Nuño.

How easy it would be for this fly,
with five centimeters of easy travel
to find the exit.

I have been observing him for a while now,
since I was distracted by the buzzing
of his awkward flight.
From that moment I have watched him, transfixed,
and he’s done nothing but flatten
his face, with all his might
against the hard glass, that does not understand.

In vain I opened the window
and tried to guide him with my hand,
he does not know; he still combats
the immobile, impenetrable glass air.

Almost with pleasure, I too have felt
that I am dying, that my projects
are not going very well – just going –
that in the end it will all be forgotten.

When was it I wanted to leave everything,
for everything to leave me, to see, to know?
But nothing did I do; I just press
my forehead against the glass of my own window.