We have a collective problem
with our hearing, our seeing, too.
There are sounds that we struggle to hear,
sights that our eyes refuse to see.
There are certain frequencies,
cries, groans and wailings,
that auditory senses fail to discern
above our chosen and familiar din.
There are vistas pleasant and reassuring,
scenes of blue skies and gum trees;
with these we make pretty our walls,
that cruel and confronting landscapes
in territories beyond our own,
either do not exist
or are none of our concern.
Hear no evil, see no evil;
not my problem.
The denials of sensory perception
are employed to foster
an untroubled existence.
Thus we avert the need
to speak, to act, to confront,
and our voices become forfeit.
In the blurry stories of human origins,
a mythical man
demonstrates the timelessness
of speech impediments.
In feigned innocence, he enquires:
Am I my brother’s keeper?
Jesus, we are told, came
to open the eyes of the blind,
to unstop the ears of the deaf,
and to release the tongues
of those who will not speak.
Pick me, Jesus;
© Ken Rookes 2012