My eyes can see only so far;
they look so ahead
that they can't follow
the earth's curvature
to its very end.
My ears can hear only so much;
they listen so little
that they can't comprehend
the laughter of playful dolphins
and the cries of cut trees.
My hands can touch only phantom mirages;
they never turn towards
the gnarled roots of ancient forests
or the callused palms of a caring mother.
My nose can smell only fragrant privilege;
perfumes often mask
the stench of sweat and blood
that stops my world from falling,
like Atlas' mighty shoulders.
My tongue can twist only in some ways;
a muscle so atrophied
to include the voices
of the plundered and oppressed.
My mind can hold only so much wisdom;
the eyes of my eyes
the nose of my nose
and the ears of my ears
often lose their way
in the bewildering maze
of meaningless facts and figures.