Calmness slips in on the footfall of each evening as daylight retires,
Tranquility captains the night,
As do anguish and faithlessness,
Gremlins, rising up from beneath tangled roots,
Emerging with volcanic might,
Seizing the advantage of your slumber.
Bolting upright, you are
Jolted awake into St Vitus’ dance,
Eyes twitching, wide open to what has been missing.
You look and you see and you feel, wordlessly watching
A stark parade of all that can no longer be left behind.
Pushed down for centuries,
Denial is no remedy,
As this tale devours your waking dreams.
Night after agonizing eon,
You labor to thread filaments
Of patience and peace into wickedness and horror.
Early one morning a seam appears
In the seeming endlessness of toil and struggle,
A glimpse of dark Light.
And the grip on your throat loosens,
Releasing your body captive,
Spirit, untethered now
You exhale deeply
With the taste of its name still on your lips.
Pulling another breath,
You step away,
While counting the final hours of the job you came here to do.
“…disaster, when it is quite sure of its own strength, will announce itself by hardly moving its lips…”
Chris Cleave
“Maybe you will wake up tomorrow and find that things have changed for the better, the apocalypse is over and there’s light, hope and a new home.”
Sanhita Baruah