@Blackween 26 November 2020

Surviving the Dark

The moon is caressing the oceanic blue night sky. The crickets are in harmony with the dying buzz of this day. Melodies of the night have come alive As the monsters hiding under this bed. Old ghosts are reclaiming their usual space Even after being long forgotten like their graves And time is on a standstill. For a second, I am reminded. That the voices in my head have spoken of this moment. They have shamelessly argued over it's possibility Behind my back. How that there will come a time. A moment like this. A time when even loneliness will look over my soul with a pitiful face Unable to stay itself. Internal conflict will be having a field day Working tirelessly to overthrow Whatever little calm that has chosen to stay. Consequently reviving the buried chaos And resurrecting the uncultured mayhem Ruling over my broken self. Doubts are to reclaim a sacred throne Left for the taking at the centre of my dying light. It is from then, then. I shall become the undertaker. The walking dead. My pens are to turn infertile before my very eyes. Followed by inkpots then running dry. Drier than the Sahara and her raging winds. I would then be lost. Lost somewhere deep in the trenches of pain and misery. My voice would then fade from my throat like smoke dissolving into the air. Who would then save me? If not myself. Braving the dragging I back to this toxic society To learn how to live again. To exercise breathing again. While sunk And now time is no longer on a standstill. ***Wambuku W.*** ***♡***