I wonder How Colors Look Like!

A regular day with regular needs,

I went to buy some groceries,

Holi, the festival of colors was around,

And I had to make some delicacies

The place I lived, had in its behind,

A school of people, who were all blind,

As I crossed the road to reach the shop,

I saw a familiar little girl,

And I came to a stop,

She was all alone,

Waiting to go to the other side,

I asked her, if I could help,

She didn't take a step,
And she kept quiet

I asked again and touched her face,

She didn't flinch, but nodded a yes,

I held her hand and crossed the road,

I asked her - "Where do you want to go?",

She said - "I have to wait here for my Miss",

I couldn't leave her there unaccompanied

We took a bench and sat their for a while,

I asked her name and talked about her school and life,

She was happy to answer and she smiled,

She asked me about my rife,

I said I had to buy some sweets,

And had to get some clothes and tweeds,

At that moment she fell quiet

And then she asked - "Its Holi isn't it?"

I said - "Yes",

She paused and said "We play holi every year at our school",

I went dumb,

She said - "I like the festival; I wonder how colors look like",

And I went numb...

Something inside me was piling,

I looked at her; she was still smiling,

“My miss says, what I see is the color called - Black,

And when lots of light is there outside,

The black lightens a bit, and she calls it White"

I knew she was sad, but she was smiling,

And I couldn't see anything, as I was crying

She heard me, but refrained to say,

Her Miss came and took her away

And I kept seated, glued to my seat,

Wishing from my heart, if I could do the feat,

Of coloring her world and coloring her life,

Wishing if blindness could have more than just black and white

Though nature took her gleams,

To see the colors, when she was born,

It certainly couldn't snatch her dreams,

As they were her own

I wonder what dreams she sees, and how they fair,

And I wonder what she painted them there...

I know congenitally blind people can't see colors and images in their dreams (at least that's what I've known from all the internet search I did). Their dreams are usually filled with emotions, sounds and their experiences. 


The life around us is represented by colors in all the forms and our eyes are a great gift from God to see and enjoy these colors around. However, imagination and dreams have no limitations, and that was what went into the poem I wrote above.

Note: I wrote this entry as a contest entry for Indiblogger. The contest is held by HP Laser jet and you can check more about the site at (http://www.hp.com/in/laserjet)