Beneath my balcony a lone streetlight
with almost half its length buried underground,
paints a dome on the road in cadmium-white,
from the center twenty steps all around.
It began as a dim glow of pale red,
when by the sun, across the horizon,
a similar hue to the west was spread
and darkness descended like a giant carrion.
When that blush was gone from those ruby clouds
the streetlight had reached its maximum glow
and the dome too was in place, bright and loud,
half transparent, half orange and yellow.
The king of the ground and the air inside
that transparent dome is the lone streetlight.
When the sky has been reclaimed by the sun,
the king does not see that darkness is gone,
the transparent dome too is there no more
but the blaze is there as it was before.
I find my ways in the loneliness,
in that thick shroud of a naive arrogance
and in the obsession to a single view
that surround and define the yellow hue.
Burning in a blaze of glory, in vain, like us,
living as long as there is life, with no purpose!