The Eyes : A Vibrant Tale

A newborn enters the world,

and first to awaken are the eyes—

blue, black, or hazy,

as if life peers through

an unknown doorway.

 

The eyes recognize the mother’s face,

in the first smile a waterfall spills,

the eyes learn to speak

without a single word.

 

In childhood, the eyes roll

like playful balls,

chasing toys,

sometimes crying,

sometimes sparkling

at the sight of candy.

 

The eyes lie still

at the father’s approaching footsteps,

the eyes hang suspended

on the doorway frame.

 

The first day at school—

eyes full of hesitation,

eyes wide with fear,

eyes exploring the boundless universe of curiosity.

 

The first hand of friendship is held,

eyes converse in silence.

Without uttering a word,

two souls connect.

 

In youth, the eyes bloom

like springtime flowers.

The eyes shed waterfalls

in unspoken love,

the eyes flare

with jealousy.

 

The eyes are revealed

in rebellion,

when tradition binds

and the heart longs to soar.

 

In romance, the eyes become oceans,

harboring the image

of the beloved,

floating like moonlight.

 

Sometimes eyes spill

at the first touch,

sometimes they slip

over a stranger’s face.

 

The eyes lie still

awaiting the beloved,

the eyes hang suspended

at the window

where she glances out.

 

Then comes the time of struggle—

jobs, responsibilities,

sleep stolen from the eyes.

The pupils spin

between dreams and reality.

 

The eyes flare

at injustice seen.

The eyes are revealed

to corrupt powers,

amidst the voices of the street.

 

The eyes shed waterfalls

when parted from loved ones.

A mother’s eyes say farewell

to a son leaving for foreign lands,

along with tears.

 

The eyes converse silently

between husband and wife,

where speaking is unnecessary,

just seeing

is the language of love.

 

The eyes lie still

over sleeping children’s faces.

The eyes hang suspended

in worry for the future.

 

Gradually, age bends life.

The eyes are no longer sharp.

Glasses are needed,

yet the spark remains.

 

The eyes grow tired

from life’s endless race.

The pupils spin

in memories of days gone by.

 

The eyes shed waterfalls

seeing old friends.

The eyes converse silently

with photographs

trapped in an album.

 

In old age, the eyes dry.

Tears remain inside.

Sometimes eyes reveal

grandchildren,

sometimes they lie still

in their innocence.

 

The eyes flare

at the pain of illness,

the eyes hang suspended

over medicine bottles.

 

Then comes the final hour.

The eyes start to dim,

vision blurs.

The eyes depart—

to that place

from which no one returns.

 

Yet the eyes are pierced

by the cruelty of time,

torn away

by violence and war.

 

Still, the eyes live on

in memories.

The eyes lie still

among flowers on graves.

 

In a loved one’s prayer,

the eyes hang suspended

toward the sky.

 

And in the fullness of life,

the eyes finally

merge

with the eyes of the universe.

 

© Aman Kumar Holy