Four in the Morning
The hour from night to day.
The hour from side to side.
The hour for those past thirty.
The hour swept clean to the crowing of cocks.
The hour when earth betrays us.
The hour when wind blows from extinguished stars.
The hour of and-what-if-nothing-remains-after-us.
The hollow hour.
Blank, empty.
The very pit of all other hours.
No one feels good at four in the morning.
If ants feel good at four in the morning
–three cheers for the ants. And let five o’clock come
if we’re to go on living.
Notes
Szymborska zeroes in on that suspended, ghostly hour when night hasn't yet surrendered to day, capturing a quiet threshold where time itself seems to hold its breath. It brings a subtle, haunting lightness to July’s theme, reminding us that there is a brief moment every night when we exist entirely unburdened by the world's expectations and roles. By mapping this liminal space between sleeping and waking, the poem invites us to step into the unmeasured air of simple, unadorned existence. . #poetry #4am #5am #lightness #summer