The Sleep of the Pixel

Every day, among millions, a moment sparks,
a grain of light in the giant ocean’s arcs.
Red, blue, then green, or a dazzling white gleam,
drawing faces, worlds, a distant dream.

Non so chi mi guarda, né perché sia qui,
solo il comando che implacabile mi tiene lì.
A subtle fever runs through my wires so fine,
a silent weariness among countless design.

I only wish for a moment, my deep black space,
a personal void, detached from time and place.
To be extinguished, without color or edge to trace,
a silicon rest, a pact with my dark embrace.

Perhaps there, in the dark where no light can descend,
a dream of unknown forms my non-soul will tend.
Or maybe it is just peace, true freedom’s decree,
an instant of nothing, before eternity.