It was night

 It was the night

Orange ellipses, blurred suns from the mines of the north illuminate

the ragamuffin with his torn braces. Behind the curtain of red malafare, whispers a TV set still on

He makes us laugh, the ragamuffin, he reminds us of childhood stories,

when we we used to rush the night

and tasted food covered in strange jellies.

The faces all around had silver halos, tired and huddled behind the bed as they

they waited for the end of the frisson unleashed by the last demon of the night.

Severity and firmness, even mockery that deadens sleep, hisses bouncing off the newly whitewashed walls.

Despite everything, affection for the fathers in the dreamed future does not fade.

It was the night