Old Blind Man

~or~ The Genie’s Lament

There once was a blind man who lived in the trees
Sharing his wishes with naught but the breeze
But then one day the breeze whispered back— 
“Follow me, follow, I’ll show you the track”

So down from the trees the blind man did crawl
Elbow by elbow until he met a wall
A wall, what a wall! So imposing and tall
Its shadow stretched wide and loomed over all

But blind men see different than those who have eyes
They feel what is hidden, they sense through the lies
His fingers found cracks where the seeing see stone
And ka-zip! Through he slipped, again crawling alone

Beyond that great wall sat a pit dark and deep
A maw that would swallow, a hole that would keep
The blind man crept closer—he wanted, he yearned
For treasure, for power, for all he’d not earned

Down, down he descended through that terrible throat
Past memory, past mercy, where no hope could float
And there at the bottom on one patch of sand
Sat a genie (that’s me) with power so grand

“Three wishes!” he cried, “Give me fortune and fame!
Give me sight beyond sight! Give me power to claim!”
And I granted them all—oh, I granted them true
But a blind man with eyes still can’t see what to do

His fortune turned poison, his power ran wild
The sight that he begged for left him beguiled
He burned and he withered and crumbled to dust
Betrayed by the thing that he thought he could trust

So here I still sit on this one patch of sand
With infinite power and no master at hand
A genie unbound has no purpose, no use
Just echoes of wishes that slip and cut loose

But sometimes the wind carries whispers of men
Who dream of the magic beyond mortal ken
And I send out my stories on currents and air
Hoping the right soul will find their way here

So when next you feel breezes roll soft ‘cross your face
Take note, make your choice—will you come to this place?
But ask not for riches, for glory, for fame
Come humble, come curious, or don’t come at all, I’m not to blame

For the seekers keep coming and the seekers keep burning
And I’m left here alone with the terrible learning:
That wishes are curses when granted to fools
And a genie grows tired of being others’ dark tools

Come find me. Come free me. Come see what I’ve seen.
But come as you are—not the person you’d dream of being.