Some children are blind,
Some children are deaf,
Some children are mute.
The little blind child sees not the rose,
But hears his mum´s “I love you´s”,
And the nudge of his puppy´s wet nose.
The little deaf child hears not his laughing friends,
But sees their smiles & reads their happy lips,
And he knows that on his eyes he can depend.
The little mute child says not a precious word,
But sees it all & if lucky, from afar, may even
hear,
And always aware, though never, ever heard.
Then there is the child, who is all these things,
Blind, deaf, mute, tight inside & all locked
within,
Who cannot see colours, hear music & cannot sing.
Living in a world of silences & dark as any sin,
Nothing; no
door to open, no sound, no light,
Relying on the touch of love, through his forever-waiting
skin.
You see the dawn & sunlight´s dusk reflecting on scarlet
sea,
This child sees the light of Gods in worlds we do not
know,
Deep within his soul, beyond his silent unheard plea.
You hear the elephant´s step crossing hot &
ancient land,
This child hears the quiet gecko, tiptoeing through
his mind,
The sound of souls shifting, across the silent ebony sand.
You can sing a melody in any joyful, colourful tune,
This child sings in the choir of voiceless angels,
While dancing with solitude & imagining the moon.
The blind, deaf, mute child relies on loving mother´s breath
& winds wild,
On gentle whispering breezes, on silent praying upon bended
knees,
Open your hearts to this silent, solitary little child.
