The Night They Came
Some nights arrive with thunder.
Others creep in quietly barefoot, cloaked, whispering secrets no one dares repeat.
But the night they came… was different.
It didn’t warn us.
The Stillness Before
No dog barked.
No child stirred.
No wind tapped the windowpanes.
It was as if time itself held its breath—
Waiting.
The stars above blinked slower,
and the moon hid behind a blanket of shame,
as though it too refused to witness what would follow.
We should have noticed the signs.
The stillness.
The subtle shift in air pressure.
The way birds vanished hours before dusk.
But we were busy scrolling, posting, debating who was right about things that didn’t matter.
So they came.
And we didn’t see it coming.
They Didn’t Knock
They didn’t need to.
They walked through walls, some made of brick,
others of belief.
Not all of them wore boots.
Some wore suits.
Others wore smiles.
But all carried something colder than any gun—
Intent.
What They Took
They didn’t come for gold.
They came for memory.
Not money, but meaning.
They erased names from books,
rewrote histories mid-sentence,
reprogrammed the silence between words.
They silenced poets before their pens could bleed.
They redrew borders not on maps—
but on minds.
And Yet
One candle stayed lit.
Somewhere, a voice refused to tremble.
In one window, a child wrote stories in charcoal on cracked walls,
each letter a rebellion,
each sentence a survival.
You see, they came to end us.
But in doing so, they reminded us who we are.
We are not our screens.
Not our hashtags.
Not the algorithm.
We are the memory keepers,
the storytellers,
the quiet defiance in a world gone numb.
The Morning After
When the sun rose, it didn’t ask permission.
Its light sliced through the wreckage,
found the hidden pages,
and kissed them awake.
The night they came, they almost won.
Almost.
But we remembered.
And that’s how they lose.
Tags:
#Resilience #PoetryBlog #DigitalAwakening #TheyCame #ResistanceThroughWords #BulbWriters
