The blind woman

I was sitting across a blind woman in the metro today.
Balancing her stick between two fingers, she kept touching her face every two minutes and kept adjusting her hair.
Several times she checked if her curls were in place.
If her fringe was alright.
And I couldn’t help but wonder.
Why was she so conscious about how she looked?
She couldn’t appreciate her own visual beauty.
Then why did she care if others did?
How did she determine what people with eyes looked at?
Shouldn’t she be one to care about inner beauty before anything else?

Love

They walked slowly, hand in hand, towards the sinking sun.
Their feet sank in the wet, white sand, and left a deep mark as they moved ahead.
He put his arm on her shoulder.
The sun was nearly down.
The horizon, a deep orange, slowly turned violet, and started fading into darkness.
He looked at her, held her hand, kissed her on the lips.
Then she saw him slip his hand out of hers, turn around and walk away.
She never saw him again.

Today as she breathes through the last hours of her loveless life, she wonders.
She wonders how things would have been if he hadn’t left.
If she hadn’t asked him to.
“Is he still alive?
Does he remember me?
Think about me?
Does he hate me?
Has he forgiven me?
Does he remember me?
Does he remember me?...”
Her breathing becomes heavier, scantier.
And then she suddenly cries out his name…after all these years…and moves on to the next world.

Paris

On court, on chante, on pleure, on rit, on s’aime, on s’ignore, on boude, on fume, on voyage, on s’enferme, on danse, on râle, on découvre, on apprend, on se précipite, on se regarde, on observe, on s’éclipse, on court, on court, on court.
C’est le Paris que je déteste.
C’est le Paris que j’adore.

A walk in the forest

Walking through the thick forest, I feel small and insignificant.
The tall evergreen trees dwarf me.
The breeze makes its way through the leaves, making them dance on its music.
The sunshine peeks in shyly, and I can see the dust ambling lazily in its glory.
I cannot see the birds, but I can feel them judging me through their curious eyes.
The black ants are moving up and down the bark of a huge tree, oblivious of my presence, or even my existence.
I look up and see blue spots in the abundant green.
I cannot help but be awed at nature’s symphony.

The sunshine slowly recedes.
I cannot see the dust dancing.
I cannot see the blue spots; I cannot make out the green.
I don’t know what the ants are up to.
But I can hear the birds.
I can feel the wind rustling through my hair.
I can hear the leaves dancing.
I can hear the soft thump of my feet with every step I take.
And it’s enough to make me feel alive.