A Lamp Post

I did not like it at all. It was blinding the stars. The shimmering light from the rusty rotting pole. A lamppost standing tall. In the middle of an otherwise perfect, matt finish night.

The light was insignificant. Temporary. Dull. Gloomy. It did nothing except for attracting those clumsy little insects. It was nowhere near the radiance of the stars. Yet, it was blinding the stars. And I did not like it at all.

I did not like how the lamppost went on to glow in its innate dullness, unmindful of the real stars above.

I did not like how it almost blacked out, twice or maybe thrice, but kept blinking back into existence.

I did not like how it let the flies take the risk of swallowing its light, when it’s clearly safe for them to hide in the dark.

I did not like how it stood alone rusting like a loser, while everyone else has set forth in search of better places.

I did not like how it still cared to persist day in and day out, knowing fully well about the uncertainty the universe holds for it.

I did not like any of it. I did not like how it was almost similar to me. I did not like how it was entirely different from me. I did not like how it got on my nerves. I did not like how it strangely comforted me.

I would have looked up to the stars. I really wanted to. But this lamppost blinded everything until it was the only thing in sight. And I did not like it at all.

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