Blindness

They say love is blind But never get to say What blinded her Or who blinded her Because when one is blind It but follows That one knows not If really one is blind. Because the blind Sees clearly All hidden truths Of this world; Locked deep down within Our deepest inside Waiting to be released; Waiting to flourish. So if love is blind, It means love sees better Though man is blinded To believe love is blind When man is the one Who is blind Like a bat. Flying noisily across Space and time. Blind to the flavour of truth Blind to the colour of the wind Blinded to the efficacy of faith And power within to do all things. And blinded about the Mountain of lies Lying all around his path; Taught to him at the citadels From cradle to grave Blinded to The wicked pretense That makes man’s inhumanity To man looks like love. They dare to say Love is blind. Indeed, love may be blind. The question is: Who isn’t?