A blind man told me
what he thought of sight.
“As if you open up a Russian doll
and place each front to back.
If you have light,
the near one's big.
The farthest one is small.'
We learn from decibels,
from rods and cones,
from sour, sweet and
rough and smooth,
begin from heat and cold,
from scents and pheromones
to recreate the outer world
within.
So you think you know me.
Well, you got nerve.
Each synapse gives sensations
but no clue.
It's clear
you never listen or observe.
The me inside you
isn't me, it's YOU.
I hope some day you'll see
why I won't stay.
Watch me get smaller
as I walk away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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