You all look the same to me

“Hey, blind old man, can‘t you see
to be here you’ve got no right
if you don’t leave, you’ll be left”
an angry voice shouts at me

vocal gunfire within earshot
shrill voices attack back and forth
piercing shouts that fight each other
because they see, what I cannot

I was born to a pitch dark night
What do I know of color, son?
But I hear both, the pain and hate
within my hearing’s line of sight

I’m down here in the peace of mud
my knees get wet, my palms they drown
in centuries of shock and awe
mixed from ashes and tears and blood

I sink, I’m down, I stop, I’m raised?
“But he’s not one of us,” one says,
strong hands, still lift me up, reply
“and neither one of them, but dazed”

“But he’s...”, “...just a blind old man, eh?”

a struggle for words, but no blow,
cools and calms down to discussing
softer arguments shared two-way
understanding flows to and fro

For sure they won’t call me father,
taking two unblameable hands
blindly offered a stranger help,
and place the one on the other

ignoring distant yells of shame
“Oh my, what can a blind man say?”
milky eyes glance down at the ground
“I heard, shadows look all the same”

“What can I say? Old man like me.”
parchment skin on rebellious young
hearing the silence of their stares
“Why don’t you close your eyes and see?”

hands colored with warmth
dyed with sympathy
a vision
of future