Once when all the doors of the sky were closed,
People gazed facing upwards for hours;
The sky has locked up, it was all black
A sheer kind of darkness;
Confused were the thoughts of humans as their poetic sky has turned black.
At first a bit concerned, then confused...
They made up theit huts open to that blackness and waited for the return of the sky.
No one were happy with the sky having a background that's black for all the days and nights;
They waited, some left hopes.
But there was one artist,
who was fascinated by this new change.
A change which was subtler and more embracing for him.
Everyday he would go by the seaside, look at those black ripples and capture inspirations.
Slowly after, his inspirations grew and was his art form;
His paintings mushroomed and so was his lust for the black sky.
And the readers of his paintings increased.
The dense black sky now gathered more audience.
There came more artists, writers scribbling their art forms through the new black sky.
Inspirations, inspirations, inspirations...
Lastly, when the mornings again were nights and nights the mornings the souls met the eternal peace with their new sky.

- @thepoetharri ©