Grammar For The Blind - Poem by Boris Dimitrov
O, educated masters,
I am blind.
I cannot read and write your language.
I am blind for your word
the same way you are blind for my world.
I am born blind or I will become blind when I grow old.
I cannot write your language and your alphabetical
but I know the letters first were pictures
and pictures were songs
and sounds were souls.
My alphabetical is the music.
My fingers touch
the souls of the strings of my lire
In my blindness O I can see...
You gave me free and generous the bread of your pity
made with the east of your charity.
You made me to drink the spoiled water of your fear
so to become my fear and my self-pity...
You made me confess the fear that I have.
But I will tell you also what I do not fear.
I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another
or to leave whatever I have to leave.
And I am not afraid to make a mistake,
even a great mistake.
If you worry about the grammar of your mistake
I am not afraid to make even a lifelong mistake...
and perhaps as long as eternity too.
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