Mamsur abubakar

Here’s a poem about Blind Spots: There are places my eyes can’t see, Corners hidden, haunting me. Shadows dance where truths reside, Secrets live where fears collide. The mind deceives, a clever guise, What I can’t see, it paints with lies. Yet in the dark, a lesson grows, A space where mystery softly flows. Blind spots mark the edges of grace, A humbling reminder of my place. For what is unseen shapes what’s known, A quiet void where I am shown. Does this resonate with the feeling you wanted?