The eyes, the eyes

The eyes, once
smouldered in anger at boyish shenanigans;
glowered unruliness to submission;
shed silent tears all night, afraid to wake us, in the wash of moonlight through the open windows;
squinted to read a book in a sliver of sunlight sneaking in through a closed window;
smiled rarely, burdened by a lonely life;
moved constantly, to ensure orderliness;
softened, not so often, to comfort;
puzzled by a 18-year old squandering away his life;
but had enough spark to go through life,
whatever the odds.

Those eyes, now are
opaque with glaucoma revisited;
dulled in to submission by pain;
quizzical, sometimes querulous;
full of unanswered questions
why so much pain and privation?
why me?

Postscript:
The eyes are closed now,
After nearly half a century of loneliness,
Two leaves of tulsi, and two coins
To pay the boatman to ferry her soul
Across the Baitarani River,
Peace at last!