Dark Times

Longing for Dusk

I think I prefer the dark times.
Times when society wasn't ruled
By the clicking thumbs and thumbnails
By rectangular contraption of chips—
Scraps arranged to attract
And to distract—
So much that the sun is eclipsed 
By the dings of notifications
The moon waning to the light of screens, I

Think I prefer the dark times.
When silence wasn't horror, but 
The voice beneath conversation of life
When the wind chimed it's soothing tones 
Of pale, cool, and vibrant dawn
The morning waking lazily with a satisfied sigh
To greet agile men on low stools, 
bare bodied and chewing sticks 
dangling from their lips

And women—sirens 
In skins of black and brown, 
Smooth and luscious, 
The light caressing 
Their plumpness with golden palms
Arms stretched from beneath earthen pots
A contrast of light and dark, 
Beauty painted on the canvas of waking earth.

The man stare and smile with pride—
The reasons he conquers the beaten ground
She stirs with determination
Meets his gaze with fondness and touch of
"Are you serious right now? 
Get on with yours 
And move out of the line 
Of my parade." I think

I prefer these dark times,
For the light have scorched my eyes
The noise has dried the marrow 
Of my existence's bones
And I sit—
staring at flickering flames
Of memories,
And the longing 
It kindles.

—From Kodaq with Scars

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Thank you for reading the storms we carry. Subscribe for more psalms and tears clothed in hymns told by— the best storyteller of all time— scars

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The storms we carry—are the wounds I have nurtured since—I can’t even recall when—and the scars they leave behind when they are conceived and spilled as ink onto blank, damp pages. They come as the winds pass, and as we know not where they come from, we can only sit back, relax, and… just read.