The Name We Gave the DarkYou are the same—A player still moving inside an old game,Eleven years folded into evening,A mango garden holding its breath.The trees leaned closer then,As if listening,As if dusk itself was learningHow fear is born.Bare feet touched the ground

🌘 The Name We Gave the Dark

You are the same—

A player still moving inside an old game,

Eleven years folded into evening,

A mango garden holding its breath.

The trees leaned closer then,

As if listening,

As if dusk itself was learning

How fear is born.

Bare feet touched the ground

Like questions with no answers,

And silence grew long shadows

That needed a name.

We called it kichine—

Not because it existed,

But because the dark demanded

A shape we could speak to.

Years passed.

The garden dissolved into memory,

Yet the name survived,

Sleeping somewhere behind the eyes.

Now light returns—

Not from the moon,

But from a screen in the hand,

Cold, bright, aware.

And fear rises again,

Not running, not screaming,

Only standing still,

Asking the same old question.

Are you dear?

Or only the dark,

Wearing a familiar story

So the mind can recognize itself?

Nothing follows.

Nothing watches.

Only memory leaning out of time,

Mistaking reflection for return.

🌑 Closing Thought

Fear is not what we meet in the dark.

Fear is the name we once gave it—

And forgot to unlearn.

Written with AI