By Wislawa Szymborska
The hour between night and day.
The hour between toss and turn.
The hour of thirty-year-olds.
The hour swept clean for roosters’ crowing.
The hour when the earth takes back it warm embrace.
The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars.
The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace.
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.
Este es un llamado de la noche. Envía imágenes, textos, dibujos antes del 2 de abril de 2012.
This is a call from the night, send your images, texts, drawings by April 2, 2012.
email@example.com ; firstname.lastname@example.org