Poczekalnia [English translation]

We were sitting in the waiting room because it was raining and chilling outside

(There was still a long time to go to the train);

So you can drink coffee or eat something,

Because no one knows when a man stuffs the burrow again.

Then we hear the rattling of the wheels and the whistling of the locomotives,

So we rush to the platforms,

But in our place, the megaphones stopped screeching and squeaking:

"It's not your train," announced the megaphones.

We believed the megaphones -

After all, they kindly warned us;

Why stand on the platform in the rain,

Since we still have time?

The food ended quickly, boredom has threatened us,

We started to nap, dream and flirt;

Someone was playing guitar, they hummed here and there

Our heads weighed heavily on our backs.

Then we hear the rattling of the wheels and the whistling of the locomotives,

So let us rise sluggishly from our seats.

But in our place, the megaphones stopped screeching and squeaking:

"It's not your train," they said through a megaphone.

We believed the megaphones -

To dream warm - a good thing.

Why stand on the platform in the rain

Instead of flying in a soft armchair?

After the dreams, it was the girls' turn and a sip,

What made us forget to wait

Meanwhile, dawn was already blowing outside the windows

And we felt a bit cheated.

So when we heard the clatter of wheels again and the whistle -

We pulled together and on! - to the platforms!

But we were stopped at the threshold by the already familiar screech and squeak:

- It's not your train! - They announced the loudspeakers.

We believed the megaphones -

After all, we were not so bad.

Why stand on the platform in the rain,

Where is the wind blowing on all sides?

It struck us like a thunderbolt, we finally looked into a circle,

And many, many dawns have passed!

And we look into the old eyes, stopping the shaking of hands -

Amazed where our life has gone;

We run to the platforms, but there is rust on the tracks,

Semaphores, hen! near the forest - abandoned!

No train will take us from this waiting room anymore

Unnecessary megaphones are silent now ...

And we looked bitterly

Into distant pages taken from us

And we cursed in our souls

That easy faith in megaphones.