Jerusalem 1969
Resting on a bench
outside the old city wall
I heard a tapping.
A blind man was approaching.
As he felt his way
he would tap my legs,
so I said hello.
He sat beside me
and asked who I was.
I spoke no Hebrew,
Shlomo hardly any English.
He tried German and Spanish.
A little French we had in common.
Lonely I guess,
he asked me
back to his place,
a short walk
and down to a basement,
bare essentials
spotless.
He brewed coffee,
cautioned me
not to move anything
lest he could not find it.
He had lost his sight
in the Arab Israeli war of 1948.
There was much else
he tried to share.
I listened
but could not comprehend.
I felt humbled.
When I left
he was so grateful,
gave me his address.
I wrote
but did not hear back.
Who would read it for him?
Copyright © Lisle Ryder | Year Posted 2024
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