greed

They speak of orchids.
Fuss over them.
i feel them.
the long stalk and suddenly, the softness of the flowers.
Just like any other.
Then, they speak of silk cushions.
I sit upon them.
and feel no different
from the softness of
the cotton quilt in my home.
They then glide my palms over souvenirs.
Bought from faraway lands.
I learn with every touch.
And then i know
what greed is.
I thank my god.
I have no eyes.



published in Kritya, October 2012 (poetry in our time)

reading E.E. Cummings to a blind student of literature. and suddenly wondered, would we want as much if we couldn't see?