The Black Dog

Looking into Your Eyes

Even when seen from a distance,
I would keep my space, walking well away.
Just because it was black,
the black dog frightened me.

One day, walking along the shore without thought,
I came face to face with a black dog,
and somehow,
it entered my eyes gently.

What once looked pitch-dark
now seemed elegantly black.
What once looked rough
now shone, smooth and glossy.
What once felt fierce
now felt pure and kind.

Eyes like small, fixed jewels,
black fur purer and deeper than white,
the face of a black dog—
gentle, good, and endearing.

The black dog I had avoided all my life
now comes into my sight as I grow older.
How can black be so pure?

On my walks, when I meet a black dog,
I find myself staring for a long while,
unable to look away.

Was it prejudice?
As a child, every dog looked enormous,
and being black only made it more frightening.

Is it because I am older now?
I realise that the black eyes
I had never truly looked at
look remarkably kind.

Covered head to toe in black fur,
the clear eyes I could not see before—
those eyes look deeply just,
quietly righteous.

As I grow older still,
what else will begin to look different?
With passing time, things come to me anew.
And one of them is the black dog.

*these are my own paintings *