The Blind Seer

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

I may appear to be breathing
Moving
Standing
Alive
Responsive

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

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

But all that is nothing compared
To the eternal silence
That stands —

All languages are foreign to me
As air is —
The sight of the sky
The tiny flying insect for which
No word is known —

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
As wind gushing
Sending silent waves
Uttering mysterious sounds

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