Asks one blind man to another
“How did you lose your eyes?”
Replies the other

“I was born into a world of darkness.
Nothing to see, but the abyss ahead.
Staring into its depth, as it stared back.”

Asks one blind man to another
“How did you lose your eyes?”
Replies the other

“I was born into a world of light.
As a child whose eyes sparked curiosity,
I searched, taking in everything I found.”

“The azure summer sky on the tranquil blue ocean.
The trees dancing in the first monsoon shower.
The amber foliage on a sepia autumn sky.”

Replies the man born blind “I wonder what’s worse.
Experiencing sight and having it taken away,
Or not experiencing it at all.”

The other smiled a smile so happy yet so sad
“The sights of light are still vivid in this abyss.
Light so bright, light so dark...”

“My loss is both a blessing and a curse.
I’ll never see those sights again
I’ll never forget those sights either.”

Asked the man born blind,
“Is mine a blessing or a curse?”
The other cried, tears flowing from a void.

“Cling on to her hand and don’t ever let go,
Asleep in her warm caress, don’t ever wake up
She’s both your blessing and curse.

She is oblivion.

Four walls; a pair of cupped hands.
Jaundiced like an open eye; an open cove
Prescribing solitude to those whom solitude cannot withstand,
And I choose this cold corner which is furthest from the door,
To be where I am not, before
Your proclivities become my own, I write. I write,
My window holds my breath and frosts the world,
The moon in his amber gown, dressed in chatoyance and spite,
Godspeed; dark, dark shroud for naked skies!
Six floors, walls, doors from you am I.

I couldn't write when the sun peered in,
Her inquiry evangelizing the specks of time left upon the glass -
I've heard it all before; God's shining face leaves none unloved (unseen)
but his spotlight has no starlet; so who can see me up here?
We can't see from windows, dear.
I'd live and sing for the cloudless hall
The nursery of misanthropists crawling on the grey cobblestone
And the lilt of the wind on the rose; through squares nice and small -
The peevish moth shudders at the sight of itself obscuring the day through the glass.
It seems we're always in the way.

We see things not as they appear to be,
But as we want them to appear to us,
That’s why; we see the bond and not the betrayal,
We remember the chemistry and not the catastrophe,
We remember the temptation and not the tears,
We remember the happiness and not the heartbreak,
We remember the smiles and not the scars,
We remember their eyes melting us,
But not their egos crushing us,
We remember the touch and not the torture.

An error as my screen fades to darkness,
My life around me disappears.
But proof of my existence is harnessed
In the organs laid in my ears.
My drums are interesting instruments
They anchor to more than my brain
I would rather hear sound so dissonant
Than spectate a silent frame.

Rejoice! in my perspective so dreary,
For my consciousness has been saved.
Language and music my theory,
In life how love is portrayed.

why won't someone tell me
what they know
or is it all a show
I can't really tell
the spasms
touches of sarcasm
the flakes of fakes
like a self conscious woman
I follow you
blindly
i follow
but now i wallow
as your actions hit me
like a heart attack
maybe I am just being dramatic
It's a panic
shaken bones
my mind has grown
It's just a panic
a panic.

I struck the match,
Brought to life a most beautiful blossom of amber and gold,
Clinging innocently to the tiny wooden stick
That she was dependant on.
I gave her life;
I gave her a home;
She twirled elegantly, radiantly, upon her wick.

A pillar of marble,
Marble that wept at her touch.
Slowly crumbled,
Until a mere puddle was left.
And when my dancer dipped her pointed toe
into the glistering remains of her lifeline,
She was extinguished.

Collapsing gracefully, suddenly, mid-pirouette.
Smiling like joy was the only emotion she knew.
And then gone.
The smile still on her face as she faded to wisps of monochrome smoke.
She was left to drown on her own stage.

I came back to a darkened room,
My unspoken love turned to dust at the absence of her light.
I was left with nothing but a silvery pool of lost life.
My dancer was dancing no more. My lovely golden woman,
reduced to a colourless ghost,
that had melted into the cold wintry air.

She is my warmth no more. I sit in the callous night’s chill alone.
She is my light in the abyss no more.
I am lost, staggering like one cursed with blindness.
She is my dancer no more.