In the darkness,
all the inks in the world
cannot convey
even one word.
In the darkness
meanings are shapeless and monolith.
In the darkness, inks are like little creek of wetness
running into oceans;
words become sculpt-less,
silence pantomimes every say with motion,
and oscillation rhymes amidst the chime of absolute blank,
where every word is already implied,
where every word is heard,
yet not spoken.
In darkness when you are exposed,
nothing is unspoken and tacit within itself,
but your masks, your make ups,
the shades of your skin....
In the darkness there is no hide for the light,
as ink cannot conceal itself in the white papers.
