With no disturbed stars sprinkled over
the vast void of silence.
I’d like the night to be a dark canvas
for the lonely hearts to sail to.
The city is already a burning furnace of regret,
the souls lurking among the pavements,
dusted with remnant’s of their lovers’ shadows.
I’d like the night to be a virgin,
lightless, untouched grace for poets to thrive to,
where it can be the ceiling beds that are not as
defiled by midnight cries and lengthy prayers.
I’d like the night to be a large blanket of solitude,
covering the world despite this marble’s wishes
to see the universe in all its wholeness.
It will not do everybody good.
For the universe is this one huge mystery for dreamers
to discover. A mystery that nobody can understand
even after it unfolds.
I’d like the night to be an embrace,
to the worrisome and to the daughters of the insane,
for the tired eyes drowned from weeping,
and for the pens that bleed white ink.
I’d like the night to be dark.
Where my loneliness can come home,
where the doors are wide open for my words
to stumble upon,
I’d like the night to be my night
without the stars and without the sound.