The Blind World Poem by Dilrukshi Bethmage

When the darkness moved away
And the sun came across the sky,
Turning it into golden-red,
Perhaps saying that
"Now it's time to burn in hectic lives…, "
The wheel of the day started whirling,
And me, too, as usual
Started the journey
Along the unending black-carpeted road
While the dust around
Was jovially dancing
In front of my fresh face.

Stepping phase by phase,
I entered the place
Which was like a fully-filled small box,
To wait for the next-coming wheels
Which would reach the day's destination.

Gradually when some moments ran,
Making the small box smaller,
Pushing and squashing,
I sensed some deep reality of the world
Was to come up;
When an aged figure
Measuring the road with a grey stick
Difficultly joined the busy crowd.

Amidst the swamped movements
And tiring plans for the day
Of those who were pushing in the squash,
The aged figure; who was
Nothing more than trivial for them,
Suddenly happened to drop
Something from his trembling hand;
Something worthy for him
But not at all worthy for others,
On the busy box's floor.
And as the others' hands
Were fully-bent they thought,
I saw no one was willing
To make a favour for him.

Then slowly from some corner,
Appeared one small figure
With a lovely, tender smile on face,
And making the aged relieved
Picked up his worth for him.
Saw I, as lighted with moon beams
A calm night river;
A warm smile arising
From the sunken face,
Keeping his feeble hand on the little head
As if to start thanking
With his warm hearty blesses.

The consoling sight in the morning;
Yet suddenly disturbed
By a woman's figure near;
Who seemed to be well-refined,
And threw such words to the young fellow,
That made his face dull
With a forced innocent guiltiness;
"What made you touch that rubbish,
Are you blind? "
And pulled him aside,
Making him lost to my sight
Among the high-figures.

And as the poor aged
Could not see his eyes,
But well-heard his ears,
Bent down his wrinkled face
At the dusty ground;
As a silent river above which
The moon often gets crossed
By the darkest clouds of the sky,
And did not lift the blind sight up
Till the shocking horn rang.

Though he was blind to the world,
Felt to my heart;
That he is the one
Who might have seen
The bitter reality of this world,
Which is darker than his own dark world,
And which has not been seen
By those who have eyes with sight.
And wanted I to reason why
The unblinded and matured
Couldn't see the world well,
As the blind and immatured
Could see it deeply
Even on a darkened street!