The room is all dark and gloomy
I walk up to the window
and peep at the outside world
the gardens, the butterflies
early rays of the sun, the stork
i see each one of'em painted in black
too black to differentiate
too black to identify and appreciate
I hear a sudden thunder in a far off world
a thunder without a lightning
I smelt the mud as it rained
I heard raindrops drizzle all over
erasing the blackness from the trees
the grass, the gardens
But alas! the gardens and the stork
have no identity without their usual black
for i can't bear the sight of them
wearing any other color
for i know of black as the only color
I'm the dream, the dream of a blind man
