The Torrents of Beauty

Closing my eyes to the light of this world, though just a pretend, I read the Braille book of my past to uncover the truth about who I am and what in reality transpired. This is the book or may I say the only book I can read with eyes closed:

I am that blind dotard
Whose trembling fingers prostrate
Kissing the embossed texture of Your love

Upon the opening of my eyes, my vision drowns me in untruth. Though I yearn to be blind, I make most terrific effort to keep my eyes shut and my heart wide open. This is a daunting effort and taxing the happiness out of my life. Because man is cursed to sleep with eyes open under the blistering sun of this world.

When my eyes are open I meddle with the affairs of everyone and everything except that which is my own. I open these eyes; the amnesia evaporates and wafts aloft the lament of remembering My Self:

Yearning much to escape from this predicament
If only had some real hands cutting clear “I” from
            “My Self”

When my eyes are open I yearn to be a god and I command the blight of this world worshiping My Self, demanding the subjugation of all creation to mine deity. In rare opportunities when I am blessed to close these portals of heresy, I become a man for brief moments where there is no passage of time.

These are the notes on what my blindness uncovers. These are not expressions of feelings or intent to produce drama. These are not about unveiling the truth, since the only truth I can confess to: “These words are what I found in darkness”. These are the dark snapshots of sub-second blindness, which is bestowed upon me in otherwise life roasting ablaze while the light boring through my open eyes:

Roasting on fire the seeds of my heart
My horrified screams…
Rose through the Seven Heavens
Echoed in Eighth Heaven, made newly
From plumes of smoke from my heart

My pen scribbles in Eighth Heaven…

Liquid Beauty    

Hijab of Beauty

Background: Blind old lion in Afghan Zoo.

© 2003-2002,  By Dariush Gholizadeh