The Blind Seer

I may appear to be this person —
Carrying this frame
Shuffling slowly
Aimlessly sitting
Looking at nothing

To you I may appear
To be breathing
Moving around
Eating standing up
Responding —
Alive, alert
Responsive to senses

Gazing nothing
I see the vast miraculous weave
In all directions —
Without eyes or ears

Lying in the bed
I see it enveloped around me
In me —
Like a blanket of air

But all that is nothing
Compared to the eternal silence
That watches over me

All languages are foreign to me —
Like the air is
And the sight of the sky
The tiny flying insect
For which no word is known to me

This one I scribe —
No less foreign
Than the language of pigeons
Incomprehensible, unmistakable sounds
Fall upon my ears

As my own heart’s beating —
Whispering, galloping
Like wind gushing
Sending silent waves
Uttering mysterious sounds

To throw upon the page strange symbols —
Only my eternal soul
Unflinching
Aloof