THE QUIET HOUR


I love this quiet hour.

The shadowy trees tower.

The house stands dark and silent.

Like always strong and resilient.


Grandpa and Ma wait for me.

Watch me return with glee.

Then the lights do come on.

For some time the gloam is gone.


I return quietly at this quiet hour.

To the cosy embrace of this blessed bower.

Where my failures are all forgiven.

Here my ordinariness has always thriven.


Enough food but not enough light.

Little savings, little income, just about right.

A house in which each corner is treasured.

Shadows, whose depth cannot be measured.


We watch the night surging in.

It's shades obscuring each sin.

The silence binding us together.

Caressing our souls with its tender feather.


I love this quiet hour.

It's a calming, assuring power.

This feeling of true belongingness.

In the bosom of the wood dense.

@Er.Aadil Jahangir

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