Everyone has a hidden story.
A side, that like a fugitive,
Everyone hides in ways creative.
We are in darkness, set free,
By our own bondages and decree.
For no one sees us in Darkness
We can shed our “nature best”.
Many are actually bad, who seem good,
As no one sheds the sheep’s garb.
There is a time for that too.
The time, when they have no audience.
In darkness, either made by the sunset,
Or darkness understood by life’s lows,
Darkness that comes by quarrel,
Or that, brought by a big revelation.
For some, twilight makes it disappear,
But some never see the twilight.
They remain helpless all their life
And brood over the moonless strife.