Classic Transperancy...

The sinister nights of war, 
When our regiment was equipped with artillery far from capable,
When our sense of well- being wept in agony,
Waiting to surrender to impending doom...

My fellow men begin to make peace with their gruesome destiny,
They begin to curse their inability to foresee, 
Every inch of their body accepting their vanquished controlled,
The subtle martyr has walked even further into the checkered shell...

We now wash our dirty lingerie,
In the muddy waters of solitude,
The residue speaks of grimy white lies,
Embodied with the spirit to rejuvenate the truth...

The infinitesimal transition withing limbo,
When we're suspended mid-air amidst other falling bodies,
Yet numerous turbulent times have gone by,
They now seem like events of another lifetime..

The persona which gloats is now silent with defeat,
Bonding with other mortals who bond with the end of an era,
The burden of trauma hovers within the pores of luck,
Harnessing the strength hidden within every catastrophic occurring...  

The touch of sight...

The touch of sight is their only light,
to tell them if their path is wrong or right.
Without feeling they may never know the meaning,
their eyes have never seen healing.

Without the touch of sight,
it's always night,
so yes, they do live in some amount of fright.

The touch of sight is strong,
never get it wrong,
it can distinguish much more than flower and thorn.

They have learnt to live with it forever,
they will give it up never.
They can't see the world,
they can't see the beauty of a pearl,
but the touch of sight,
is the best thing in their fern.

Lets keep hoping,
that their eyes don't keep doping.
May their eyes be something they can use,
after all important are their views.


(Picture taken from the net-
http://media.photobucket.com/image/blindness/brightsoul/blindness.jpg)