Night Was Done

Mikhail Kuzmin

Night was done. We rose and after 
Washing, dressing,—kissed with laughter,—
After all, the sweet night knows. 
Lilac breakfast cups were clinking 
While we sat like brothers drinking 
Tea,—and kept our dominoes.

And our dominoes smiled greeting, 
And our eyes avoided meeting 
With our dumb lips’ secrecy.
“Faust” we sang, we played, denying
Night’s strange memories, strangely dying,
As though night’s twain were not we.

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Reflection

There’s a strange feeling that comes after surviving something difficult.

Not triumph.
Not relief.

Just quiet.

The storm passes, the argument ends, the grief loosens its grip for a moment—and suddenly the silence feels unfamiliar. Almost suspicious. As if some part of you is still waiting for the darkness to return.

That’s the emotional space this poem inhabits.

The night is gone.
But its presence still lingers in the body.

Anyone who has struggled mentally or emotionally understands this feeling. The mind does not immediately trust peace simply because it arrives. After enough hard nights, enough spirals, enough internal battles, calm can feel temporary—like something borrowed rather than something you deserve.

So when morning comes, you don’t always celebrate.

Sometimes you just stare at it quietly, unsure how long it will stay.

That’s what makes this poem feel honest.

It doesn’t force transformation.
It doesn’t pretend dawn solves everything.

It simply acknowledges change.

The darkness was real.
And now, at least for this moment, it has shifted.

There’s humility in that.

Because healing is rarely dramatic. Most of the time, it arrives in small recognitions:

You laughed without forcing it.
You slept through the night.
You answered the message instead of disappearing.
You noticed beauty again without feeling guilty for it.

Tiny things.
But tiny things are often how people return to themselves.

And maybe that’s the deeper truth underneath the poem:

The goal is not to become someone untouched by darkness.

It’s to remember that darkness is not the only atmosphere your life can hold.

Morning does not erase the night.
But it does interrupt it.

Sometimes that interruption is enough to keep going.

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Reflection Prompts

• What “night” in your life lasted longer than others realized?
• How do you respond when peace finally arrives—do you trust it or brace against it?
• What small sign tells you that healing may already be happening quietly?