There’s something peculiar about dusk

Which forces my creative self into action

Beyond my capabilities during the day

The dusk commands me, through itself

Into escaping thoughts and melodramas

Time past midnight is cause for sanctuary

Risk not a minute without a pen in hand

And an open notebook facing the ceiling

Staring into the dark ambiguity of dusk

Secrecy glimpses through the window

For protection from people like me,

Steady with their stares and pen hands

It’s an attribute learnt through time,

like an intense appreciation for the night,

A mutual respect known only through

These disheveled, misguided words.



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