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
trembling fingers prostrate
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:
much to escape from this predicament
had some real hands cutting clear “I” from
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:
on fire the seeds of my heart
through the Seven Heavens
Eighth Heaven, made newly
plumes of smoke from my heart
My pen scribbles in Eighth
Hijab of Beauty
Background: Blind old lion in
By Dariush Gholizadeh