Even the sun
bends his knees
before the unforgiving
presence of father Nycto.
He adorns himself
with the crown of dusk
and the cowl of twilight
whenever everything seems
like a great firestorm of misery.
From then he slumbers.
Gradually regaining vigor and intensity
from the warmth of his star-filled garments.
Wittingly, he knows,
that in one exuberant day,
he will get back on his feet,
with his chin held highest amongst all,
and radiate vehement warmth from his broken heart.
Without darkness,
stars won't shine.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
Even the sun
bends his knees
before the unforgiving
presence of father Nycto.
He adorns himself
with the crown of dusk
and the cowl of twilight
whenever everything seems
like a great firestorm of misery.
From then he slumbers.
Gradually regaining vigor and intensity
from the warmth of his star-filled garments.
Wittingly, he knows,
that in one exuberant day,
he will get back on his feet,
with his chin held highest amongst all,
and radiate vehement warmth from his broken heart.
Without darkness,
stars won't shine.
On bent knees,
we reclaim our dignity
and thwart the grasp of tyranny.
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