Sometimes on the mornings when everyone slept,
she’d hum a few lines to soothe herself.
She couldn’t sleep nights in a row at times,
but she could make out how the world worked without any lights.
So one day she just left without a word,
without a destination to hold her straight on her road.
A little bit of the drug was all it took her to sway
from the sense her parents said she had had all the way.
She couldn’t understand at first at all,
why the world seemed so mute to her.
Why the colors she knew so well couldn’t brighten her heart,
why the radio beside her bed died sometimes.
All she heard were the notes floating through the air
A bit of the majors and the minors,
and the diminished ones so familiar here and there.
And she knew that’s what kept her alive,
hoping for better days to come her way.
And then she knew she needed to make a life out of the music
The music that carried her blind soul to places so far away.
So with all the grace she had left in the world,
she made her way down the ladder and out of sight.
She knew the rains were well on their way,
but she also had to get there straight away.
She colored her wings so that the cars would notice.
She lit up a fire so that the people could see.
She broke her heart in two and threw it into the flames,
and stood there proud with her head held high.
She cut her wrists and felt them bleed.
She ripped her soul to just try and see.
She cut her pain with a broken knife,
While the good doctors told her she’d be alright.
And then one day she came back up the ladder with eyes in her soul,
promising herself to keep making music till she was grey and old.
She felt the winters turn into springs through the years
She felt the anguish everytime she thought there were tears.
She clutched at the curtains at times when she couldn’t breathe.
She groped through the window bars just to try and feel free.
When she got there she was all of thirty and a three,
a decade from the day she’d started toiling ever so blindly.
She soaked in her dreams dreamt from the young age of three.
Realizing nothing, even for her blind soul, came absolutely free.
Post written by : M.
Random scribbler, a bit of a geek, musician, techie, and mighty fun. Uncombed hair is awesome, as is 3 quarters, a polo and my guitar on any day.
Flamboyant, trendy, mad . His friends find him always handy and near when in need and definitely during madness or music. He is now in Pune, working for a software company of repute. He blogs at : I think Iblabble way too much
A true straight-on-face friend that he is, look out for more of his posts
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