Afternoon Light
Afternoon light entered the room, for a moment — that was enough. The day, unknown, drenched in sin. An open book sprawled across the table, certain, careless, with its witness of time. History widened itself, page after page scarred with red lines, a strange inventory of life— secrets hidden in black ink, sliding under the weight of pride. The south window lost its way, the room collapsing into darkness. And then, I turned the page again. In that darkness, alone, I searched for light. I leaned inward, peered into the heart, and saw the window— the sorrowful day pausing, as if it stopped, just once, before dissolving. Light called: Come, come. Beneath the sky, what remains of knowledge is here. Then suddenly— darkness fell, the body trapped in the lust of four walls.