What is darkness
but the absence of knowing?
A pause between thoughts,
a canvas stretched too wide
for certainty to cling.
Yet even then,
light insists.
Not in thunder,
not in blaze—
but in quiet defiance:
a beam through broken sky,
a shimmer on a frond,
a breath held between stars.
The world is not made of opposites,
but of balance—
light and dark
not at war,
but in conversation.
And we,
caught in the middle,
are both question and answer.
Both the shadow and
the thing that shines through it.
So even in the stillness,
even in the hour that forgets its own name—
light finds a way.
Through clouds.
Through leaves.
Through Us .
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