Blind Fingers Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

In the past I felt so proud of my fingers, when
they were counting currencies, properties, missiles,
they pointed to the innocent instead of the crook,
they signed to start a war and write off peace,
they used to pull, push, signal or stimulate,
or used to tighten, squeeze or strangle,
to robe and hide away so many evidences
to press a button and cause numerous sufferings.

Then you approached and took my fingers softly,
you taught them in a smooth way
to be united with yours that they appeal,
to touch with a breeze upon the geography of love
to travel about from your heel up to the front
vibrated and concerted with your cradling waist,
to stretch out, in a magic way, on your breast,
at the coast of your lips which invited my own.

However, these fingers of mine are still blind,
can’t see what is invisible and undeclared in you,
are still blind to touch the dew of your flame,
cannot see, cannot believe, cannot caress
your inner smile, the star in your inner sky

not even the mature fruit to be picked up
by those who possess that special ladder.



© JosephJosephides