4 am’s poem.

After a night shift, waiting for a bus. For some reason, I felt like writing a poem, so I did it. Because why not? This time I put also Polish, as it is the original version.

4 am in the night
when city is still quieting down
winds blow stronger,
spread the echoes.
And leaves from street stick to the edge
smashed with wind and worn out,
like people restlessly passing by,
heavy are their echoes.
Faces pale, can’t be discerned,
if a face is well known or strange.
Because the face is already with wind absent.

And when the wind flits quietly in the distance,
thought, one and the only,
who are we, we, who stayed,
in this pale of stones, this city of the lonely.

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O czwartej w nocy
gdy miasto cicha jeszcze,
wiatry wieją mocniej,
roznoszą echa.
I liście z ulicy lgną się do krawędzi
wiatrem przetarte i zmachane,
jak ludzie niespokojnie przemykający,
a ciężkie ich echa.
Twarze blade, nie-dopatrzyć się można;
czy twarz znajoma, czy odległa.
Bo twarz już z wiatrem zbiegła.

I gdy przemyka wiatr cichnąc w oddali,
myśl tylko jedna i tylko ta,
któżeśmy ci, co tu się ostali,
w głębiach zakurzonego granitem miasta.

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Thank you so much for reading. If you like my blog, check also my Instagram @againorway. As per usual, have a nice week everyone and don’t work night shifts like me! It’s not good.

Author: againorway

student, Norway-lover, artist, dreamer, book worm

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