Erebus- Varnika Jain


Light and dark.

One loved,

The other feared.

But it is the presence of both together

That gives rise to shadows.

Flickering, fluttering, floating, flashing,

An image in your own likeness.

Isn’t that what we are to the gods?

Mere shadows.

Mere shadows?

Deemed worthy to walk their favourite, earth.

I think shadows are underappreciated.

Those lovely forms of silhouettes.

They downplay our happiness so as to not spurn the ones less fortunate,

And hide all our sadness in their flowing depths.

They’re neutral.

They’re kind.

They’re downright divine.

The next time I feel like searching for myself

Or within myself

I’ll look towards my shadow.

Now I know why I’ve always found Erebus,

To be the most intriguing corner of hell.

Varnika Jain is prone to having verbal epiphanies in the midst of all the cacophony surrounding her life.  She is a voracious reader, vociferous eater and a vehemently passionate writer. You can read more of her writing at Moonlighting Scrivener where you can find her changing the world, one word at a time.


Everything you will never understand

I’ve wished for a thousand times

A non-believer

Praying to be filled with what I know not

And emptied of the same


Released from delirium

The moon, the sun and the stars

Have tired of my voice

So I turn to the earth

She births hope

Cradles death

Panacea prophecy

Dappled in divine dust

Washed in worshiper’s waters

Encircled in stones

Sacred self-shrine

Altar of alchemy

Save me

Give credence to this


Deemed light

Despite gravity

I sing my burdened ballad

Out of the night

Out of sight

Out of breath

Out of desire

Out of desperation


Soothes and saddens

Golden grass left untended

Pretends to be the sea

Each breeze rippling waves

Of amber


As I grow smaller

Pluck the last


Wished away

Into the gray


(Image from Tumblr)

1Wise-Woman: “I am living, fighting, and thriving with mental illness and chronic disease and a need to express myself. Writing eases some of the weight I carry.” When she isn’t yanking shadowy strands of leathery clumps of unconscious, and tenderly placing them into word documents, she is creating at A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave.