Sounding similare like again
Blind Eyes Begin
Visualising illusions as they be
Acusing the world what they can't see
In absolute darkness they live
for them light has nothing to give.
Sweet streches air as waves
The tenderness it always gave
Without a form they wobble around
Our sweet sound streches by its surround
The breeze has its own language
Our eyes do not understand their storage
Blindness hides all the colours
and so the war between races
Our eyes which see the colour
you can't see your eyes yourself.
Eyes begin to blind imagining
Blind eyes begin visualising
melody flows in harmony
Pleasure finds itself in agony
Imageless icons Imagine ideal
Inovative idea interpreted inception
Life has value from its roots
roots hidden in secrets
Searching until losing ourself
Revolutionarily renders Reality
Search resonates hunger in starvation
Results remind taste to the Tounge
Blind Eyes Begin
Sounding similare like again
Visualising illusions as they be
Acusing the world what they can't see
Yet enjoying the dry dark shadow
What they have left to follow
An eye for an eye
Ends in the world ever bright yet dark
The eyes Blind yet heart Kind
They sleep with eyes open
Dream all day long
Blind Brave Silently Strong
About the Creator
Karun
🌿✨ Karun, a poet weaving emotions into verses, embarked on the journey of words to unearth the beauty of feelings. In the delicate dance of ink and emotion, my poetry delves into the nexus of the human heart and the natural world.✍️
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar2 days ago in Feast
Comments (5)
Intense lines The eyes Blind yet heart Kind
This was so profound. Loved your poem!
Interesting and delicious content, keep posting more.
I can relate to this poem and I understand your meaning. I take care of my mom 24/7. She is completely blind. It's a challenge but she's a survivor! Good work, Karun.
Very lovely. Often it's the blind eyes that see the truth.