It is my entire world—Aswad.
My reality is painted in black,
I’m one of those from birth.
Do not feel sorry for me;
My world might be such
That its beauty I cannot see.
But look through my eyes;
The colors of my thoughts
Are prettier, you’ll realise.
Through my touch I see
The sands, seas, faces and flowers;
Their textures are the key.
But I feel privileged even though
I have no sight of the thrill
When an arrow leaves a bow.
Or when the leaves turn yellow
In fall, filling roads with hues
That turn the hearts mellow.
Neither when the snow falls
And dampens the ground in
What season ‘winter’ they call.
I feel glad that I do not have sight
Of the horrendous crimes
And evils of tremendous might.
I feel good that I’m no spectator
To the malice that in everyone lies,
Or to the rule of a dictator.
In the dark times that lie ahead,
I can safely say that my world
Has always been brighter instead.