The Hollow

The Hollow comes crawling up to you in the dead of the night,

A night when you are tucked in safe, when you sleep amidst the memories of mommy singing you a lullaby.

A night, when you thank God for the warm duvet you have to snuggle.

A night when comfort is the soft yellow light, shining outside.

A night when the sturdy lock on your main door, lulls you into thinking you are safe.

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The Hollow lies in wait,

Sometimes in your closet,

Sometimes on the branch of a tree outside your window,

Sometimes in dark corners of the passage,

Sometimes peeking through the keyhole of your main door.

The Hollow lies in wait,

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Dark – o – phobia

“Mummy, you know I have dark-o-phobia.”, spoke my six year old son, Adi.

I had heard the excuse enough and more times in thelast month, and honestly, despite being amazed at my child’s ability to create phobias out of thin air, I was tired of listening to the same rant over and over again.

“No darkophobia…farkophobia…we have already spoken about this. You need to learn to sleep in your own room.” I used my most no-nonsense tone, which I hoped fervently, would work on him.darkophobia

“Mummy do you want me to be traumatized?” Seriously I have no idea how a 6 year old can come with these fancy words?

“Traumatized?” I raised my brows in mock surprise. Continue reading