From where I stand,
pink between the castle-work of buildings,
the sky is melting.
Heavenly coloured syrup drizzled over clouds,
pensive, waiting for the sun to go down.
Here, time runs faster than all,
despite the daily racing, lives seem stalled, forever.
Long marriages always the same.
Lives with only emergencies, births, routine,
that is all what is left in the game.
A thousand poets have stood in this very spot,
staring at this catastrophically heavenly sky,
many might have missed everything,
I hope at least one grandly lit up in his eye.