CATARACTS

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 I am the colour of my mother's eyes.

At birth, she spat cataracts into my eyes

and beckoned me to see.

I grasped for shadows, blindly obedient 

until my fingers grazed a spindle.

I learned in that moment that this darkness is a two-faced friend,

and I am its blindfolded dancer, swaying to its echoes.

At 13, I sat with this darkness and christened it 'friend'.

I was forced to memorize this night's fierce pulse,

and to engaged it in whispers and pillow talks .

Until at 18, I bade it farewell.

I learnt to take giant steps and minute leaps, or so I thought.

Then this darkness whispered in syrupy tunes,

"Have your scars not taught you anything?

Don't you know, dear child, that these cataracts are yours to own

And your children's children?"

Now, at 24, I am the color of my eyes.

I am neither blind nor seeing.

I've come to embrace these shadows as my heritage and drink from the depths of its secrets.

I've learned too much from my scars to find solace in blurred images.

I am, indeed, the image of my mother, spitting shadows and lights into the eyes of my daughter.

At birth, she is the colour of her mother's eyes.


BY MARVEL ESSIEN


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