Your hands, can’t feel, what, my soul, sees
Beauty, is a verity, way beyond
The truth, of touch, mind’s myth, decrees
My heart, tells me, what’s most profound!

Would different, be, these lavenders
Or more, brilliant, those daffodils
With sight, insight, only discovers
What the, curtain of, prejudice distills!

Their scents, never, perplex, my sense
They ain’t, mere pawns, of, my instincts
What, you call flowers, I call, penance
This yearning, trancends, all precincts!

I know, what I am, in your thoughts
A dream, that will, never unfurl
A remembrance, of, forget-me-nots
The Faith Of, The Blind, Flower-Girl!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra