4a.m.

The hour between night and day.
The hour between toss and turn.
The hour of thirty-year-olds.

The hour swept clean for rooster's crowing.
The hour when the earth takes back its warm embrace.
The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars.
The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace.

Empty hour.
Hollow. Vain.
Rock bottom of all the other hours.

No one feels fine at four a.m.
If ants feel fine at four a.m.,we're happy for the ants.
And let five a.m. come
if we've got to go on living

Wisława Szymborska
Nobel Prize winner
Literature, 1996.


4am today.
4am, when i wish i can go out for a spin, a run, anything
4am, when my senses are the strongest.
4am, when my emotions are being magnified
4am, when only silence consoles.