By Yasen Vedrin
(The Copper Bowl)
Blind to malice and to human plight,
Blind to furies, spits, and insults cast,
Tapping with my cane into the night,
With timid steps I venture out at last.
All my life a prayer I have cleared,
Hoping God would somehow find a way —
With pure faith to make my eyelids healed,
Turning into miracles my clay.
To open eyes and see the world arise.
The sun, the heaven, and the stars above.
To feel the grace that in the spirit lies,
And warm my chest with fire and with love.
Perhaps from deep within all human eyes,
Kindness always glances, soft and clear.
And from their depths, bright sunbeams always rise,
While man holds another human dear.
Lord, will You arrive? Please let me know!
In Your sweet mercy heal my broken sight!
This blindness is a heavy weight and woe,
And for You, the miracle is light!
But if, healed in Siloam, I should see,
Won't my spirit suffer even more?
"O, blind man! Do not grieve or bow your knee!
Your blindness is a gift, a prize in store!"
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