Cataract Glasses

I ran past a blind man this morning. At least I think he was blind.  He was old, and frail, and wearing big black cataract glasses.  He was carrying a long umbrella and using it as a guide cane.   I said “Good morning” as I approached him, and he mumbled something back.

As I ran on, he stayed in my mind.  There was a time when he had sight, and he had someone to walk with.  Now he was blind, and he was walking alone.

Cataract Glasses

If I ever lost my eyes
I’d fill my ears with music.
And if I ever lost my ears
I’d fill my arms with books.

If I ever lost my limbs
I’d submerge myself in water.
And If I ever lost my mind
I would simply let it wander.

But if I ever were to lose you,
Oh, what would I do?
If I lost you,
what would I do?

If I have to lose my eyes
I’ll fill my life with sweet, sweet music.
And if I have to lose my ears
I’ll fill my arms with dusty books.

If I have to lose my limbs
I’ll submerge myself in calm, cool water.
And If I have to lose my mind,
I’ll let it go, I’ll let it wander.

But if I had to let you go,
Oh, then, what would I do?
If I lost you,
what would I do?
I just couldn’t go on without you.

Aside | This entry was posted in It's All Yoga, Poetic License, Run, Walk, Skip. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s