Come this way, said the nurse.
Which way? I can’t see.
Well – imagine
The patients, with their tumbling grey hair
Arranged in pastel rows
Their relatives close by.
There are questions in their staring eyes
Eyes that search but do not see.
Eyes that squint ambiguously.
Through the window observe
The improbably layered clouds
In logic-defying shapes
The symphonic sweep of the park
In emerald, sapphire and aquamarine.
The world is such a delight,
Look at it. Oh you can’t.
Well, picture it.
It is your language, not mine.
It’s better than nothing, don’t you think.
Now, come into the cataract suite.
It is lovely, the walls are pink.
Language is a miracle, like sight.
It is our Oracle
Through it, we learn, perceive, describe.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth
And the earth was without form and void
And darkness was upon the face of the deep
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters
And God said, Let there be light: and there was light
And he could see.
Then there is sound.
The mystery of a minor chord
The thwack of a tennis ball
The crunch of tyres on gravel
A child calling you name.
I want to see them.
Hush, do not use your words
You may need them
And besides, I am your eyes.
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