THE SEEING BLIND
On a rainy summer day
Crossing the green grass for a while to stay,
Sounds of thunder striking my ears in a thunderstruck
I stopped walking for a moment,
Under the gray sky, which in tears, cracked
Chilly winds caressing my skin wrapped my heart,
Whose beats for a second stopped
In the middle of the fields,
At a wretched walking man, my eyes gazed
Raised within me mixed feelings of woe and wonder,
Configured one thousand questions in my mind triggered
Is the man seeing or blind? I wondered
Could we see in darkness what others never imagined?
“Senses are not measured by their functionality”
The man’s voice came in all its intensity
Because we, who are left behind, see the world with an inner light
A light made not for the seeing, but only for the blind.
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Featured image credits to SingingAngler on Pixabay
