Miłosz Biedrzycki

I am the night that doesnt want to end

hot and dry enough to seal the throat

the soft walls pasted with mucus, dust

 

I am the one-metre high letters IŁAWA CENTRAL

the morbid light of soda lamps

the furious hiss of the tube lamp in the corridor

 

I am the mumbling of a hippy asking for

a handout to buy himself a cup of tea

'cause the pigs have just let him go

 

I am the pigs hunched on a windy platform

with eyes red from a lack of sleep

with heads pushed into the collars of their uniforms

 

I am the steel river under the bridge

I am the rumble of the train against the balustrade

I am the mercury mist waking in the fields

 

I am the unhinged window, the journey without the point

I am the unhinged window through which the mists push

inside, I am the clanking, the way, the night. 

Translation: Tomasz Bieroń