Dark Night

Dark night

Ask no questions to the dark night
She is lying still.
Her solace, if it does not soothe,
she has no answers.
Clouds are best when they are grey,
undeceiving absence of colors;
Nights when dark are simple
even if the sorrow, open and candid, hurts.

Let the darkness be its own,
undiluted intensity, desires, not wild but true,
and if they do not want to speak,
respect the sadness; retreat and let them retreat.
They are not yours to own.

The dark night hides the flow,
its stillness: a cover for the turmoil,
no turbulence to be shown, perhaps, it was silenced long ago.

The dark night selfish, behind the screen,
let her be centered in the self.
She needs to find her lost rest;
and it's no craving she needs
to fill up the gorge where she could not flow.

Certain syllables are missing in her script,
certain gaps where ink did not show.
Maybe, in her dreams she may find
what the unrest did not define.