Stupid eyes,
Dominates all other senses.
Like a stern school master,
Whipping others in line.
What do you do?
When the school master,
Was never there?
Do the rascals run amok?
I don’t think so.
Without a master of vision,
The senses develop
A view of their own.
While we (the fortunate?)
Dream in sight,
In color,
In motion.
The blind, dream
In sound,
In smell ,
In touch and more.
Like the world we know,
Which the eyes dictate,
The blind have one too,
And it is as bright as ours.
They are in a world of their own,
But they sometimes need help
Navigating,
This crowded world of ours (and theirs).
Hold his hand, the blind man’s,
Hold her hand, the blind woman’s
Together, cross the zebra,
Swinging hands and tails.
Laugh with them, they can hear it.
Smile with them, they can smell it.
Cry with them, they can touch it.
After all, it was the blind who first found the way.
