Blind to the world yet colorfull

A little girl on a little bench by the meadow
She smiles to herself,
Feels the dew drops over the wooden cracks of the bench
Everyone around is occupied in staring at her
But she is lost, lost in her own land

Where she doesn’t have light, but is away from darkness
Where she is alone, but away from evils
Where she cannot see anything, but away from terrible eyes
Where her world doesn’t have color, but away from the color of blood
Where she paints the world herself


She imagines people to be twins
She imagines blood to be pure white
She imagines hearts to be clear mirrors
She imagines every rose blossomed ignoring it’s thrones

She twirls in her little dresses feeling the wind
Ignoring the impurity in it, she enjoys, she dances
She trips down after each twirl
She laughs at herself, ignoring that she failed
She walks alone in the meadow

The little girl on the little bench by the meadow
I see her knocking the braille door every morning


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