The Blind Travel

It all started with a blurred vision. Labels are rectangular coloured boards. Trees merge themselves with the farms. The rain and fog are added points to the blind travelling. The hand involuntarily rushes towards cleaning the window. It has a habit to do so with the mirror after a hot shower or steam bath. Then the curiosity was limited to finding clarity after a so called purification. Here the cognitive state has no limits. The only thing clear are these broken spectacles in my hand.

My concept regarding spectacles with high power is quite different. Well 2.75 right along with 1.75 left isn’t that high but for someone like me who wears them all the time except the photo shoot period can make me go blind in their absence. I even sleep wearing them and that would be the reason of my current helplessness.

At times, I prefer taking them off whenever I want to disconnect with the world and be where I am for the moment. It’s like a forced advantage to get involved in something completely. Be it on a date, hangout with old buddies or anything peculiar in my nearsightedness that demands my cent percent presence, the same act is the saviour.

In a busy running world where we hardly find time to entertain ourselves, socialising with close peeps is for a comfortable yet short span of time. So, I couldn’t find any disadvantage in context to taking off glasses as such. But right this moment it’s a war. I am holding the gun and the Christ is handing over the bullets. The muzzle points the centre of my forehead screaming silently in harries. It’s hard to embrace the beauty of massacre which is lying in my head.

My situation is somewhat like a drunkard who can’t see anything straight and to the point. The entire world seems like a Merry-Go-Round running faster than this globe. Shaking and hitting my head in a desynchronised octave played to set with high pitch vocals.

I want to see things but I can’t. I want to see the beauty around but I can’t even feel it for now. I want to write but I can’t feel a pen laying in my neighbourhood. I want to type but I can’t see the keys locked on the board. Blurred! I can’t count your fingers. I can’t even sum up mine.

I thank God for giving me pretty graceful eyes which help me see through people and surroundings as well. Also, for adding imperfections to them. Maybe that’s the beauty of a blind trip.

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