Posted by: Shara | April 30, 2011

The Blind Man

In digging through some old books of poetic mumble that stretched back to when I was 11, I found some poems that brought back interesting and painful memories.  They were not painful for me, but they were, because I was a witness.

The Blind Man

The man
with the very real
blinded eyes
begged for money
from those who passed

Some pretended not to see him;
some crossed the street
“No’s” and “Sorry’s” were given
with barely a glance
in his direction

They didn’t see a man;
they didn’t see him at all
He was just another invisible ache
that needed to disappear

This happened near the Smithsonian in D.C. My family was a block away as I was watching this happen, and we were unsure of where we were going.  We paused when we got to his corner, not because of him, but to try to figure out where we were.  Somehow he knew that we stopped for a different reason, and asked us where we were going.  We told him of our intended destination, and he ended up giving us explicit directions.  We found our way easily.  The one happenstance that I noticed was that he did not ask us for anything.  What made us different…?

This blip in time became a memory that continued to follow me.  It’s one of the reminders that I can always do more service.  Someone who seemed to need so much actually helped us when we needed it.  I was humbled.


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