Colors of Blind

I heard the voices. They are coming towards me. I went to them and said I’m a painter. They laughed at me, you a painter! said they. They left me all alone in my darkness.

I heard the voices. They are coming towards me. I went to them and showed what I had with me. It’s a painting, painting of an angle coming for me with the frills of the wind. She is beautiful like smell of a fresh rose. She is as soft as baby’s bottom. She is as pure as mother’s breast. She is all set to take me to her into the heaven of light. They saw the painting, laughed at me and left me all alone in my darkness.

I heard the voices. They are coming towards me. I went to them and explained what I had with me. It’s a painting of a toddler. It is playing in the mud. It is all covered with dirt and still shining with its innocence. It is riding on the excitement to discover the radiance of its tiny world. They heard me explaining my works, laughed at me and said u can never become a painter. They left me in my darkness all alone slaughtering my heart.

I heard the voices. They are coming towards me. I went to them and showed what I had with me with a belief that they will agree on my skills. It’s a painting again painting of garden. I painted flowers in it. I painted waters in it with strolling trees. I painted life singing to the tune of brightness. I used red, green, yellow and brown to make my garden look like the paradise of heavens. I stood in front of them with a hope that they will praise me for my gorges. I heard nothing, no voices, no sarcastic laughs; I wondered is every one appreciating my canvas in silence. I called for them but no answer. They already left the place. They never saw my paints. I felt no one could understand me. How could anyone? No one knows the colors of blind. They left me in my darkness all alone.