"By night an atheist half believes in God."
The crawler makes its way,
through the grey road.
The darkest of it's kind,
creates a magic spell on each leaf,
that flutters in the silent wind.
The moon shines,
with an unusual glory.
It's a glory of mistrust between the two worlds.
One that seeks to live and love.
The other that fights to seek an existence.
The calmness of the night,
was stolen by the dark envy.
An envy that robs the,
trees of it's right to live.
And the right to greenness.
Small pieces of the night,
stitch together and weave magic to a pungent perfume.
Floating limbs of evil forces,
grasp the melancholy of the earth,
to liven the damn spirits of
Nott remains unsuccessful,
in her attempts to bring her night back.
The Wiesel guy,
penned it down what it was like.
It was a night of happier things too.
The rickshaw-puller smoke his lustful pot,
and for once he relaxed,
to the tunes of the Baul that hummed in the record player,
left by some guest the other day.
It is also when people,
discover each other.
The trees communicate in silence.
And talk of welcoming the rains,
and bearing the pains.
The night shelters itself in a vast expanse,
pretending to be some kind of a treacherous beast,
that makes prophecies or wars and crimes.
Night is when the people rest,
and the dreams work to make him,
alive next morning.
Night is when man is what he becomes the next morning.
The sun paints the canvas,
and plays with the colours a little later.
It weeps and departs and promises,
a revengeful return.
(Nott is the Norse Goddess of Night,
Elles Wiesel is an author who wrote a book named "Night",talking about the Nazi treachery)