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Colours Of The Blind

For the blind, can you paint a picture?

People think that because I cannot 'see',

my world is black and lonely.

That is not true at all.


My colours are in the sounds I see,

patterns in the world I feel.

Loud sounds!

Screaming, shouting,

Crashing. Things breaking.

These are warning 'colours' in my senses

like what you tell me about what red means.

The taste of citrus in my mouth

the sharpness, be it orange, lemon or lime

they are one lilting colour.


The warmth of the sun on my skin is happiness;

it makes me feel alive.

You say yellow is a 'happy' colour.

Yellow then.

The scent of grass,

the fragrant perfume of the garden

is real green.

Except the lavender, which everyone says is purple.

Purple smells lovely.


Rain. I love to listen to the rain, and to feel it.

Sometimes when I am outside there are

light showers I only understand

when little raindrops plink on my face in greeting.

The fountain in the park,

The running of the tap.

Water is blue.


I have heard a lot about pink.

The colour of princesses or flowers or fairies.

Pink sounds nice.

Then there is 'white noise'

Why, that is not white at all.

White is the restful silence of bedtime,

the peace of the sleeping earth

I feel it in my white bones.


Love is a colour.

I see it when you hold my hand,

When you put your arms around me.

The voices of my friends and family are laced with love.

It is a most precious colour, like diamonds or gold.


Every voice has a different colour to it;

that is how I know who is talking.

Every word is a brush stroke,

A sentence, a shape.

A conversation is a fine painting

in the gallery of my memories.


 I have heard wondrous stories.

They have so many colours in them.

I am not talking about the ordinary colours you describe

to me, like the colours of curtains and clothes.

I am bored of those words; they mean nothing to me.

I mean colours of life: of joy and sorrow,

adventure and disaster.

Colours that make you feel things in your mind and heart.

It is, I suppose, like you seeing a rainbow

but different. More.


Music is magic.

Words cannot perfectly describe

the beauty of songs, of melodies.

They light up my whole brain, blow my mind.

Take me to faraway places.

Holidays that last minutes.

A great song is paradise, a festival

of voice colours and instrument colours 

in harmony and symphony,

rhythm and motion.

I cannot explain the things I see in my mind's eye

because even I don't understand them.

Only that it is wonderful.


I have colours plenty,

colours only I can see.

Remember, life is more than sight 

before you pity me.

by Ami Leah
Bromley College, Bromley

Competition - The Poetry Trials

Copyright remains with the author.