Poor Eyesight
Such was his eyesight, that he leaned only a few centimetres over the paper, enough to see his words taking the form of phrases his heart racing from his endless love for man, and making the betterment of man’s life his ultimate purpose, he scribed lines after lines, under the humble light of an oil lamp with excruciating stomach pain, of which he suffered year after year, and he persisted in writing one after the other, his images, his theories, his convincing statements in his effort to open eyes, to touch hearts, to stir the pneuma of his compatriots and all the men around him; endless suffering and anguish he endured on the altar of human service, the unsung hero, the wounded Übermensch, the forever hero of humanity, night in and night out with his eyes seeing darkness in daylight and flashes of light during his momentary ruptures which kept him going to his end
Libros Libertad 