Letís say itís my fault and we skip the ifs and buts. I stranded here driving deep in otherís ruts. I picked my own goals, it leaves a bitter smack - I cannot steer out of this old beaten track. It has pretty steep, muddy rims, and I got well stuck in, it seems. And I feel, soon it makes me go nuts. Damn the first ones who followed these ruts. And Iím going to curse every curse back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I could sit back and let it slide. Why should I care? Conditions here are all right, like everywhere: No one is jostled in a fray. No one will cheat. Can you deal with a one-lane way? Then, step on it! Youíre given everything to thrive on that convenient, cosy drive. And I fancied how fair it could feel, everybody goes wheel after wheel. Stay in each otherís ruts to the end! Like all those who in front of us went. Not far from me there is a cry: Letís try it rough! Some desperate hell of a guy, whoís had enough. But quarrels drained his inner source a bit too fast. And all the bearings and valves went swiftly bust. But where he jiggled back and fore, the track has widened out some more. At some point his trace suddenly stops. For when such a rebellion flops, itís the ditch where a hot temperís curbed. And the rest stays on track undisturbed. I got some troubles with the clutch. The engine stalled. Now itís like lurching in the sludge without a hold. It takes a push, but still I lean and look around. May be thereís someone coming in to hook me out. But when youíre in a sort of plight, there will be no one else in sight. How I wish I could pay back in sludge for the track which took from me too much. As I deepened its ruts with my ride, I have added an edge to its bite. I felt a sudden icy chill down to my bones. And wading through the mud uphill I saw at once: thaw streams had washed the grooves away and thereís a gape! Must be my very lucky day! Itís my escape! My tires spit with dirt and mud back into this unfriendly rut. Hey, you, stragglers, thatís how to break free! Which means itís not a pick off the shelf. This new track is meant only for me. Find another way out for yourself.
© Oleg Eyrich. Translation, 2017