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!