Silently walks in,
Like an intriguing stranger, whose face you never get to see.
As he sits and watches you,
The dam that held back thoughts is pulled away.
And so they flow, sometimes like a gentle pitter-patter of rain,
Other times with the ferocity of a hungry lion.
Anger, pain, sadness, words, memories, unending analyses, songs,
A jukebox, that plays all records together.
Imagine the noise,
Inside your head,
In the silence of the night.
But it is now that thoughts are lucid.
You realise realities that were invisible before.
All day, you file away moments, feelings, associations - in a folder,
And when a tired world sleeps,
The folder flings open, bursting to reveal itself,
If only the day was just as silent and still.
You would sail through life with clarity,
About what you desire and what you don’t,
About where you stand and where you don’t,
About who you are and who you are not.
And when you awaken, the night reverberates in your bones,
Like the tingling of a secret rendezvous.
There’s a numbness, as you press the ‘play’ button of the day,
Working hard to remember the wisdom of the night,
So as to connect it to what unfolds ahead.
It is your secret, your little luxury.
You can snuggle into the vast black blanket and fall apart,
And stay that way, till you glue the pieces together in the morning.
The dark stranger will not judge you.
After all, he holds the sighs and tears of the world.
He will look at you kindly,
And touch you with sleep,
Soft, painless and healing.
Black. Illuminated forever by the moon and the perpetual stars.
This night is your friend.
He never shows you his face, but you can talk to him for hours.
He wants nothing, he takes nothing.
A true friend.
A true friend.