A dark night

(Artwork by: Anubhav Nagpal)

It was a dark night.
It was always, for as long as I can remember,
And I remember all of it.

We couldn’t even mumble of mornings; I and my darker soul.

We wouldn’t dare. We wouldn’t stare too long.
It used to burn like hell. I remember shushing my eyes.
But they never listened. They used to pour like syllables of sorrow shunned by your sickening sighs.
I remember shivering amid those darker clouds, when you used to have me high
As a kite drenched in a tad bit darker shade of black and, you used to have your way.

Every time.

We wouldn’t even dare to cringe; I and my darker soul.

It was a dark night.
It had always been a dark night, for as long as I can remember,
And I remember all of it.

I don’t remember colors.
It was always one, just the one with that same tad bit darker shade of black.

I don’t remember light.
It was always a darker pretense, as if my nerves are fooling me by getting used to it.

I don’t remember will.
It was always the gullible guise that we used to wear. Me and my darker soul.

I don’t remember curling up in a ball, trying to save us from the gentle torture you taught us.
It was always the same lesson, over and over again. I used to be the slate, and you never used a piece of chalk.
It was always blood, who wrote our story. Of me and my darker soul.

I don’t remember mornings.

It had always been a dark night,
For as long as I can remember,
And I remember all of it.

You used to whisper to my dark eardrums, smeared with the curses
You used to curse, withered with the words, you used to wince.
You used to say, “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone”.
I guess you were right.

I knew.

I knew the moment you were gone, you were that dark night.
You were that tad bit darker shade of black which I feared,

Yet breathed in every wretched moment of mourning.

You were that sour silence, which woke me up from every nightmare.
I remember you calling it a morning.
When the only time I could make you smile, was when I let you go.
The only time, I could look out the window, was when your door was slipping behind.

And I called it a night.

– Chandra Prakash Verma

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