If we had no eyes,
no prisms behind skin,
no iris gates to filter the flood,
would the world hum differently?

Would silence grow deep?
Would the wind become shape?
Would footsteps bloom into meanings,
and thunder into memory?

We would trace the day by tone,
morning as a low-bell murmur,
noon a brittle clicking of heat,
and dusk, a velvet hush?

A voice would no longer be
a face in waiting,
but an altar of breath,
vibrating with soul.

We would touch laughter in the air,
tasting its roundness,
hearing sorrow as a thread
unraveling in the dark.

Without eyes,
we would not stare,
but listen into being.
Perception would not pierce, but cradle.

The rustle of a coat,
the drip from a gutter,
the far cry of a train,
all would be portraits,
drawn in vibration and distance.

And maybe,
we would stop mistaking light
for understanding,
and instead learn
how a whisper can carry truth
more clearly
than any color.

So if we had no eyes,
we might finally hear
what the world has been trying
to say all along