Matura [Final Exams]
At the intersection, where a crowd has assembled,
A familiar face stands out.
"Irka, how are you, long time no see! How’s your health?
Are you working? What’s going on? Tell me!"
"I’m not working, I’m busy otherwise, high school
final exams are coming, so I’m grinding away like mad."
Final exams! Despite the lack of freedom,
final exams.
Final exams of old – silence in the hallways,
fear and seriousness in the faces,
white blouses, finally the green table,
hours of waiting, the paper one dreamed about.
Today I am not being taught at school,
I am being taught by worries, by adversity.
My lessons are being given to me by a teacher
named l i f e.
The exam I am taking in his presence
seems like nothing compared to your final exams.
The professor gives me difficult tasks:
how long can I go without breakfast,
it rains and I walk around in old torn shoes,
with unceasing hunger pains in my stomach.
final exams, everyday final exams,
wartime final exams.
[Note: Due to severe water damage, the poem’s final three lines are unreadable].