Those Kind Wrinkled Eyes

As a child,
when drawn deep into my thoughts,

post a gloomy day,

introspecting on life ,

and its anomalous ways,

head cast down,

feeling an abstruse load bear upon my spine

I would slowly look up,

and a gaze accosted mine,

tender yet wise,

affectionate sans any vice,

suddenly my face,

would break into a smile,

as I looked into, those kind wrinkled eyes.

They seemed to,

tell a story,

of the times gone by,

the saga of a lifetime,

concealed from you and I,

narrating countless memoirs,

of life's short spells,

small spurts of happiness,

followed by afflictions from hell.

That gaze spelled naivete,

of an innocent child,

the passion, hunger and zest,

of youth gone wild.

exuding strength acquired

 through years of toil,

maturity inducing calmness,

under circumstances that make,

young blood boil.

Those eyes were pools of sapience,

wisdom,

no book can teach,

attained through life's experiences ,

and not from what saints preach.

an expression,

begging forgiveness

for all acts of vice,

in turn sending a message:

nothing is forever nice.

They were the gateway to a journey,

an odyssey called life,

to be lived and revered

in moments,

of both harmony or strife.

those gates

closed one day,

never to open again,

leaving me with an ironical feeling,

of immense loss,

and unparalleled gain.

Today,

when drawn deep into my thoughts

post a gloomy day,

introspecting on life ,

and its anomalous ways,

head cast down,

feeling an abstruse load bear upon my spine,

I still look up,

with the hope of finding that gaze accosting mine,

its absence forms tears,

at the corner of my eyes,

but a feeling in my heart,

breaks my face into ,

a smile.

A feeling that seems to say,

that someday in someway,

my gaze would also break a face into a smile,

help it shed its worries,

atleast for a while,

impart eternal wisdom,

sans verbal advice,

and to that someone,

I would be,

Those kind wrinkled eyes.