I am blind, you outsiders. It is a curse, <br />a contradiction, a tiresome farce, <br />and every day I despair. <br />I put my hand on the arm of my wife <br />(colorless hand on colorless sleeve) <br />and she walks me through empty air. <br /> <br />You push and shove and think that you've been <br />sounding different from stone against stone, <br />but you are mistaken: I alone <br />live and suffer and howl. <br />In me there is an endless outcry <br />and I can't tell what's crying, whether its my <br />broken heart or my bowels. <br /> <br />Are the tunes familiar? You don't sing them like this: <br />how could you understand? <br />Each morning the sunlight comes into your house, <br />and you welcome it as a friend. <br />And you know what it's like to see face-to-face; <br />and that tempts you to be kind.<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blindman-s-song/
