The Blind Watchmaker Poem by Aayushi Saxena

Down the street in one of those dark corners,
Where not many men go,
Where no woman ever walks;
You will find a man with black glasses on.

He sits there like he possess that spot,
Working behind the small counter,
He can feel what we can’t,
He can’t see what we can.

He is a blind watchmaker,
Brilliant and bright;
They say he is the best,
I hesitated but my inquisitiveness lead me to that angle.

When he looked at me,
I was curious;
Curious of what his world looks like
From behind those black glasses.

He stretched his hand and I placed my time on it,
He touched it and say I own a vintage piece.
He took it close to his ear and took notes quietly,
Like my watch was telling its condition to him.

With doctor’s look on his face
He nodded.
Like he had tacit the condition
And started to operate.

While he fix my watch,
Even when it was dark.
I wonder what else he has mastered,
To work on in black.

Has it been always dark?
Or has he ever seen some light?
I doubt he even knows
What his customers look like.

But he has mastered the timepiece,
Like an expert he handles them.
He worked on mine for few minutes
While my mind wanders and tries to get a peek of his earth

He don’t talk much,
I wonder what he hides.
I don’t know his name,
But I didn’t dare to invite.

I heed he is too old,
I see some darkness and some lines.
Too hard to tell if it signifies the age,
Or the hardships of life.

He looked up and handed me back my time,
Which was once dead is now alive.
He smiled and claimed thirty bucks,
I was sad, it was not much.

I thanked him and he was grateful,
I was bemused, was it for the business or for the words?
I might not meet him again for years,
But I will write about him in my poem.

Down the street in one of those dark corners,
Where not many men go,
Where no woman ever walks,
You will find The Blind Watchmaker.