A blind wayfarer
The miracle of the blind is himself.
There's no outside.
Having pulled down the blind on self interest,
I risk everything
And ask for nothing.My blindness transcends
The need of feet and closes the route the eyes walk.
It shuts the day's bright miscreation
To take in the brightness
Which spark shows the wanderer home,
In the vast otherness of being-
Where no one owns anything,
Where there's no name, no nation,
Where there's no sceptre, no mitre,
Where there's no creation, no destruction,
Where insight is all that matters
Where the mortal heart looks for me in the chest.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
Added by Poetry Lover
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