Blindness

They say love is blind
But never get to say
What blinded her
Or who blinded her

Because when one is blind
It but follows
That one knows not
If really one is blind.

Because the blind
Sees clearly
All hidden truths
Of this world;
Locked deep down within
Our deepest inside
Waiting to be released;
Waiting to flourish.

So if love is blind,
It means love sees better
Though man is blinded
To believe love is blind

When man is the one
Who is blind
Like a bat.
Flying noisily across
Space and time.

Blind to the flavour of truth
Blind to the colour of the wind
Blinded to the efficacy of faith
And power within to do all things.

And blinded about the
Mountain of lies
Lying all around his path;
Taught to him at the citadels
From cradle to grave

Blinded to
The wicked pretense
That makes man’s inhumanity
To man looks like love.

They dare to say
Love is blind.
Indeed, love may be blind.
The question is:
Who isn’t?