Blind Eyes That See Everything
On a bitter, misty night,
The bright moon lying on the sheet
Laid by the stars all over
The salty skies,
With the wind playing a chorus
Of silence in the orchestra
Of the dead, gloomy darkness
That was once filled with
The audience of light;
There walked upon the road
A lonely old man.
His soul, crumbling from
Each and every nook and cranny.
His body, wretched due to the
Discomfort the world gave him.
His mind haunted by the
Strangest of thoughts.
His heart, as weak as a newborn.
Veins that were clearly visible
Lurked underneath his insipid skin.
Words that longed so ardently to be spoken even once
Lurched upon one another upon his lips.
Though he could not see,
Yet his eyes still saw
What no one else did.
Somewhere in those blind corners,
There rested a bright glimmer of ‘hope’,
Buried in a corner of his eyes
When they closed, fast asleep and
Coming out every time they awoke
And through this glimmer of ‘hope’,
Shinning every time in his gloomy eyes,
He saw what no one else did.
So with this ‘peculiarity’ of his,
As the old man called it so,
He came all the way
To that desolated road which lay in a
Land called ‘No Man’s Land’,
From a far off place
Where misery had kicked him away
For all the pain it gave him
Was of no use.
Like a passenger
With his way lost,
The old man kept walking
With feet that tore
With pain at every step
On an un-known path,
With an un-known ending
And an un-known purpose.
Still lost in his own
Forlorn thoughts and imaginations,
There blew a faint wind
So faint that it said so much,
Making the old man speechless.
‘There is no song you can find here’
‘That sings itself in harmony and melody’.
‘There is no tenderness you can find here’
‘To rest your aching self’.
‘There is no calmness you can plunge’
‘Your disconcerting mind into’.
‘There is no support you can stand-by’
‘To fortify your feeble heart’.
‘There is no-one to hear the words’
‘That you so desperately want to free into the air’.
‘And there is no light you can catch’
‘To settle into the dark rooms or your life’.
And with that bitter, factual phases of reality just explained,
The old man felt ice break into his flesh
To know about the swing humanity swings upon
In this marry-go-round what some call ‘world’.
Raising his nearly kaput hands towards
That lonesome sky watching him,
The old man whispered words
For which even the darkness felt repentant.
Praying for the stoned hearts to soften a bit,
Praying for the glow of love to spread into eyes ever blinded,
Praying for minds to control their sense of worth,
Praying for the small birds perching for forgiveness to be listened to,
Praying for the long lost sleeping sentiments to awake,
Praying for the noise of aggression to die,
Praying for the lions to aid the weak around them,
The old man shouted every scream for deep within him
That burned like feral conflagration from a long time.
Then at last the skies did shed rain,
Feeling pity on the old man.
But as good frees its soul,
So did the old man,
At whose door the mighty storm,
Banging and crashing at its full force,
Took the old man with him
Into a world somewhat calmer
But never ever does good dies.
No matter how hard the storm bangs or crashes.
Rayan Ali's Other Poems
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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