Venice masks

Saturday, 1 January 2022

The Blind Boy - Sagara Palansuriya

They say, flowers are gorgeous and are of lovely shades
The things they speak of as they can see
I don’t understand, mother, so here I am to learn
Please explain to me, I don’t know these

Except the sweet fragrance of flowers, what is meant by a ‘colour’?
Nevertheless, I can also realize that the petals are delicate
Is there something called a ‘light’?
Mother, why is it that I can’t make sense of these?

I feel the heat during the day more than at night
Is there more of a difference than what I feel?
I can’t figure it out, because, they say, I am still a young boy
If so, I ask grievously, will I understand as I grow up?

I can always feel the pleasing softness of the petals
Whenever I caress them with the tips of my fingers
Yet, if there is really a ‘colour’ in flowers as they say
I am much worried that I can’t touch it with my hands

I have never enjoyed the thing that they call ‘beauty’
Neither with my nose and ears nor with my tongue and limbs
I wonder why I can’t perceive it even when you try to describe
Oh mother, I am so sad that it is too hard to tolerate

Mother, why are you shedding tears?
I can feel them trickling down my arm
Don’t cry, mother, don’t cry, I was just joking
Shall I rush and come back after hitting the boys who lied to me?

Sagara Palansuriya (1908-1961) Sri Lanka
Translated by Indunil Madhusankha

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