And still, I am blind.

Sitting in the sun, we watch the shadows where the world

scurries in the gutters of manmade cruelties.  Look away

and see the comfort of your insignificant self,

close your ears to the din of bombing and the screams of dying children,

soft, listen to the drone of mosquitoes killing nightly a household of despair.

Love your son and daughter but close your eyes to the brute next door,

looking inward and insulating the hollow of your warm nest.

The sun that shines on me bleeds on others who are not my brothers,

they are someone else’s shame,

locked away over the horizon of the night.  Come the morning and the blindness will still

be here, the scales of so-called love affixed firmly

so that I can see what it is I want to see.

My blindness sees the sunshine,

my blindness sees no darkness,

Yet, I know, I know and still, I am blind.