i-love-glasses

At a constant rest upon my face,
Or lying on my bed of matted hair,
Like a widow in a pool of pain and misery;
My eyesight, they never fail to embrace.
Plastic or metal, you satisfy my needs,

Your two endlessly long arms coiling graciously around my ears,
Black as night and thick as molasses,
I’m proud to call you my glasses.
Serving as the frame of my world, night and day,
My vibrant vision is a necessity you would never betray.

The two windows on my face,
Acting like two peas in a pod,
Show me a new side to my surroundings.
Working in harmony, covered in spots
Blocking the clarity.

You generously generate sight to the blind,
Permitting them entry to God’s sumptuous sandbox.
Your windshields are soldiers,
Combatting the dusty enemy,
Giving me protection and security.

I’m sorry for the scratches,
Gashed open like a wound scarred by my carelessness,
Letting the blood ooze, creating a stain,
Like a wizard losing his magic.
I’m sorry for the scratches,

From our trips to different lands,
Walking hand in hand,
Through the beach, the road
The dirt, the gravel
Or merely, against the lethal blades,

The savage intruders,
Sneaking in my bag;
The ones I call my keys.
When awakened from my bed,
You lay dead,
Like a dormant volcano awaiting to burst,
Its ashes of hope and faith.
Awaiting your next assignment,
Craving to once again work
Arm,

Bridge,
And lobe with the ear
Once again, giving life to dying eyes.
I feel lost without your protection, unable to see,
Cannot find you, until I hear your whispers in the distance
“It’s Me!
It’s Me!”

You spark a feeling of neglect inside of me,
Forgetting you are there,
But occasionally you remind me,
With a friendly tug on my hair!
My dear friend, I for you I would never go awry,

I’d never betray your trust,
With the villainous cones,
That man who cheats through prostitution,
The crummy contacts.
You’ll eternally never serve me as an enemy,

But always as a friend.
You will be on my side,
Until the very end.
Suddenly,
I rest my fingers upon the bridge of my nose,

You are not there.
The place is unfamiliar,
My face is bare,
The day I have feared has demolished our bond.
I’ve mislaid you,

I’ve looked in your bed lined with flowers,
Like a soldier’s grave, splashed with honor.
You are not there!
I need my glasses, to find my glasses.
So this is the gate,

To reveal our fatal fate.
Ode to my glasses,
You were always there.
But I think it’s time to get a new pair.

home_glasses

-Nada Abdelatty