debris of a letter

Danilo Kis, Danilo Kis, Danilo Kis
Little* Dany,
to your death I might add
my own little dying: my opus magnum
( a bunch of small bullshits,
to be honest),
for you have, you old scribbler,
already added to the pile 
just in time
with a shovel full
on top of mine
future death:
“DEATH IN PARIS” -
great title for a novel,
almost as good as  “...in Venice”!
But in Budapest?!
In this country that resembles a toilet someone forgot to  flush?!
You tell me...
You say nothing. Neither shall I.
But if you knew that it really did happen down south:
I am sure: you would have died laughing.
But you, with eyes that were to see death
you saw right through us
and ran away
ran from here, ran from there, ran from everywhere.
For me it's already too late.

P.S.
I hear bad things about you by the way.
Playing cards with Trotsky?
Well, you used to know best, just how much of a jinx he was.
Let him cheat sometimes.

(György Petri: Debris of a Letter) 

* Kis in Hungarian means little, small, tiny 


(reconstructed from a Serbian translation by Árpád Vickó)