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Daniel Feb 2
I left the sun for the moon
And found warmth in the darkness
A laptop screen became the light
From which I use to write
About how I became nocturnal
Haylin Nov 2018
3am
They say if you’re awake at 3am, you’re either inlove or broken.
I say it’s neither.
Perhaps it is the silent space between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all.
The indiscernible sentiments of someone who has been long lost and is yet to be found.
A soul that is neither gleeful nor wretched;
And instead waiting to feel, pondering on certain circumstances,
Or probably continually yearning for a type of serenity that time could still not dare to give.
Spiralize Sep 2018
Slowly the lights go down
the skies take the bluish hue,
the day is beautiful
but the night is true,
the ones who love its calm
nocturnals are at peace.
Once again.
Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
Do you feel her pain?
A chilly breeze
Followed by a nocturnal rain,
You can hear her sneeze
On your windowpane.

You can hear the wind howl in pain.
As the clouds invade the sky
Her efforts go in vain,
She kneels down to cry
And her tears drop on your windowpane.









Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
Uploading something after a long time. Let me know what you think about it.
Stella Matutina Sep 2018
The clock reads 4:30.
My friend is using the bathroom.
That must've been what woke me up.

Although I wish,
I know that is not true.

That frozen feeling in my chest
Resounds with my heartbeat,
Thumping faster and faster as I close my eyes.

My fitbit reads 75 bpm,
I know that can't be true,
It's going faster,
So much faster.

I try to sleep,
But images fill my head.
Dreams, or my own thoughts,
I can no longer tell.

I can't discern them,
All I know is that I am scared,
And right as I touch sleep,
I am jolted awake,
By an erratic heart,
And threatening images.

There is no screaming,
                     thrashing,
I am not awake enough to escape,
But not asleep enough to give in.

It is an all night war with my terror,
I'm not paralyzed,
I can move around,
But it follows.
It always follows.
Sleep can be dangerous too
nitelite Aug 2018
O,
my mind,
won't you meet me alone?
When the Earth's eyes close
And the valley winds blow.
To ensure,
Being clear,
That none could see nor hear
None of the throes nor fears
Reflected through shattered mirrors.
As ashamed as I am, cautious as I am aware
That,
as I am,
in this state of disrepair,
I’ve walked upon an anxious, lengthening pier,
That leads to the middle of the ocean, only to stare,
At the waves of defeat that, underneath do quake.
For still beating is my heart, so even though it aches
As the disappearance of you leaves unconsciousness in its wake,
Seeing how perilous the seas may be, to only drown in a lake,
To perhaps resurface once more in the following morn,
Is a promised hope wherein dreams dissipate forsworn
★a pensive night
★feedback would be awesome! :)
Bianca Aug 2018
When the night talks, she talks in whispers.
Sometimes the things she says are kind:
a balm at the end of a long day
of being grown-up and efficient and all together.

Sometimes the night says,
"You can put the mask down now."
Sometimes bravery is just
sitting in the silence
and letting your own thoughts
run freely into the space.

Other times, she tells you things you need to hear,
whether or not they are easy to swallow.
And that's okay too.
One of the best things about night
is the space: there is more than enough space
to catch all the truth, clamoring for your attention
to arrange all your captive thoughts in neat little lines
here on the wall of your room.
You turn them over now in your fingers,
examine all their sides--the good and the ****.

What could you have done differently?
How can you do better when the dawn comes?

I used to say that everything looks better
in the morning light.
I used to say, "Let's wait until
the sun comes back up. Then maybe
none of these things will
bruise us as much."

But I think now, midnight and dawn are
two sides of the same coin.
Where the morning sweeps you up in a rush,
the night pulls at your shoes and glues you to the floor.
She says, "Wait."
She says, "Listen."
"Here are all the important things you missed today. You will need them for tomorrow."

When the night talks, she talks in whispers.
She gives you space. She gives you truth.

And the morning? Well—the morning—She sings.
I suppose this is why things look different
during both times of the day.
One is pinpoint clarity,
and the other—the hope that follows
the mercies we need
embedded in gentle sunlight.

Both.
Both are good.
Tanay Sengupta Aug 2018
A sight to behold
Is a clear sky on a full moon night.
The magic unfolds,
Looking up to the stars shining bright.
The chilly air kisses my cheeks,
As I lift my head towards the sky.
Gazing at the nocturnal canvas and its antiques
With a naive wish to fly.

Then a sudden breeze breaks the trance
I feel her gentle touch as she passes through.
I look around to see her dance
Oh how I wish I could dance with her too.

Gracefully, she touches the leaves
She is the wind and she is free!
As she passes through the trees.
She is the wind and she is free!
I hear her whispers as she breathes
She is the wind and she is free!
She flows through me with so much ease.

Then she slowly fades away.
While I see the night turning into day.













Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
Originally written a very long time ago, I think I was probably 15 or 16 back then. I just did a few minor adjustments and posted it here. Happy reading!
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