The Blind Boy Poem by Muhammad Raza Master

O say what is that thing called Light,
Which I must never enjoy;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind Boy!

You talk of wondrous thing you see;
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make
Whenever I sleep or play:
And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear
YOu mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I never can know.

Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy;
Whilist thus I sing, Iam a King,
Although a poor blind Boy