I have always found myself writing in the middle of the night, when the world around me finally settles into calm. It is in those quiet hours that ideas arrive unannounced, sometimes as whispers, sometimes as storms, and I feel compelled to capture them before they fade. I sit with a notebook or a screen glowing faintly, trying to pen down the rush of thoughts that insist on being heard. Often, I pause to search for words, to google synonyms, to find the exact shade of meaning that matches the feeling. Yet even in those pauses, I refuse to let go of the spark that strikes at midnight. Writing in English feels like reaching for clarity, while writing in Hindi feels like returning home, and writing audaciously in Urdu feels like stepping into a deeper, more lyrical self. Each language carries its own rhythm, its own courage, and I move between them as if wandering through different rooms of the same house. The night gives me permission to be vulnerable, to be bold, to be unafraid of what pours out. I have been writing since 2017, but in those early years it was more tentative, more scattered, like sketches of emotions rather than full portraits. Over time, the practice became a ritual, a way of listening to myself when the world was asleep. The silence of midnight became my companion, and the act of writing became my liberation.
In the last couple of years, my life experiences have deepened, and with them, my writing has grown more alive. Challenges, joys, heartbreaks, and healing have all left their imprints, shaping the way I understand my emotions. Poetry became not just a hobby but a mirror, reflecting back truths I didn’t always want to face, and a bridge, carrying me across moments of uncertainty. The rush I feel when words demand to be written is almost physical, a surge of energy that insists on expression. Sometimes it feels like a burden lifted, sometimes like a secret shared, and sometimes like a wound finally acknowledged. I write because I must, because the alternative is silence too heavy to bear. Each poem is a fragment of my journey, a piece of my midnight self offered to the page. The act of writing has taught me patience, resilience, and the beauty of vulnerability. It has shown me that even in solitude, there is connection, and even in pain, there is meaning. The name “The Midnight Poet” is not just a title but a truth, born from countless nights spent in dialogue with my own heart. It is a reminder that creativity often blooms in the quiet, that words can be both refuge and revelation, and that the midnight hour, though lonely, is also luminous.
The Midnight Poet (IG - @bard_of_emotions) 