Blinding

Sun, 04/28/2013 - 15:45 -- FatimaB

Location

23236
United States
37° 28' 28.8696" N, 77° 34' 44.8896" W

I want only to touch upon what I'm missing, to poke a pin through my darkness, so I can see fiery reds, and envious greens, and pastel periwinkles, and the gleaming sun. All I want is an iota that relieves me, everlastingly, from this blindness of not knowing the sentiment of the past.
Yesterday I sifted through my old photo albums tucked beneath my bed. That my childhood should be reduced to a bunch of images on glossy paper reminded me of how quickly the past slips away from you. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to recall some of the blissful memories in those pictures. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, the lighting from my ceiling fan suddenly seemed to blind me; I winced away.
But it wasn't the light that made me blind. It was the misfortune that all people suffer from the consequence of having just one opportunity at life. Like blindness, it is the condition of missing a very vital sense: that childhood can be never resuscitated. I am blind because I am without the ability to re-experience what was once mine.
I cringe at the notion of time passing and leaving childhood behind, because I shape my surroundings along with my deepest dispositions-- love, rage, faith, and sorrow-- into verses. Writing makes sense of the world I live in. For anything that matters, I write, and anything I write can never be lost. Writing opens up channels that flow inward, abounding with the colors of my palette, which converge into a picture of myself. A picture of me that must embrace the colors of college experience.
This is a beautiful part of life known as art. So whether it is writing, painting, singing, or dancing, I spill my true emotions out into the world. A dancer stretches the contours of her body to the rhythm of the melodic beat. A singer releases the harmonious sound from the deepest nook of her diaphragm. A painter mixes the majestic colors on her palette and creates her exquisite masterpiece of pure emotion. Art adds to one's understanding of oneself and doing so helps one to live in peace, tranquility, and harmony.
To say that I am blind is, to me, admitting that I cannot use the hues of youth to paint a poem that might expose the process of emotional learning or explain the sensitivity of youth. This is my blindness.
Staring now at the photos, I acknowledge that I can never restore timeworn photos to their pristine moments. But I can always hold my palette close to me; and add new, brilliant pigments to the ever-expanding portrait of me…eliminating my blindness and pouring into my eyes rich colors of college experience and new life.

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FatimaB

Letting fellow poetry lovers a silent peek into my mind...

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