Her Eyes — 1

Her Eyes — The Deep Lake of Her Eyes

Her eyes...

Oh, her eyes — those lakes of silent depth,

So vast, so still, so silently profound,

They were my sacred place of rest,

The only haven I had ever found.

I would watch her —

Whenever she sat atop the rooftop ledge,

Her gaze lost to the horizon’s edge,

Still as prayer, breath held in air,

Fixing her eyes upon a meeting rare —

Where the sky came softly down

To kiss the waiting earth.

It seemed —

As if she gathered secret dreams

From the vermilion hues of dusk,

To fill the parted hair of Earth

Like a bride in sacred trust.

Perhaps that’s why she stared so long,

Unblinking, unmoved, utterly drawn

To the sacred place where sky embraced

Its lover — the land, in gentle grace.

And in that still and wordless trance,

Her pale face bore no other dance

Than the shimmer of her eyes —

The only light in twilight’s guise.

Her eyes...

Two little lamps in night's dark sea,

Or lotus blooms in a silent spree

Of still, untroubled lake — no wave,

No breeze, no whisper, none to brave

The sacred hush that held her gaze

Suspended in some ancient phrase.

And I —

A mere spectator to her sacred sight,

Longed to step into her silent light,

To find within her gaze a space

Where my reflection might embrace

The horizon of her dreaming face.

Oh, how I longed to stir those eyes,

To ripple calm with sweet surprise,

To see her pupils break their pose

And dance like stars the night bestows,

Moved not by sky or land or lore —

But by my face she’d not seen before.

Yet never did she blink,

Never did her stillness sink.

She watched her sky, her earthly line —

Unaware of this heart of mine.

Then...

One day she did not come.

And the sky looked empty, strangely numb.

The rooftop sat in solemn hush.

Evening dulled its crimson blush.

One day turned into days,

And the days into a hollow haze.

She did not return, and I —

Could not ask where or why.

Time, that thief, began to steal

Her from my waking thoughts — unreal.

She became the sigh between my days,

A soft shadow lost in life’s maze.

Years passed.

And one day, I walked again

That same old lane of dreams and rain.

Where every stone, each grain of dust,

Still whispered stories we had just

Begun to write in silence shared —

Before time struck, unprepared.

My eyes searched wildly for her gaze —

That quiet depth, that mystic blaze.

The lake of stillness she once wore,

That bound my soul forevermore.

And then I heard...

A whisper, hushed, a reverent word:

She’s gone.

But left her eyes behind —

To light a world no sight could find.

Before she fell to Time’s cruel call,

She gave her eyes — she gave her all.

Now those same eyes —

Those sacred pools in which I drowned,

Now shine upon a face unknown,

Some stranger wears the gaze I owned.

Somewhere in a distant land,

Behind a hand I’ll never hold,

Her eyes now bloom in foreign skies,

And shed their light where none is told.

And I...

I wander still from face to face,

Searching for that familiar grace.

In strangers’ eyes, I seek her soul,

That silent shore, that mystic goal.

For somewhere hidden in the crowd,

She still looks on — behind a shroud.

In someone’s smile, in someone’s stare,

I feel her ghost still lingers there.

And in those dreams I dare not keep,

She weeps where my lost memories sleep.

The dreams she once had stored so deep,

Now wither in their endless grief.

They’ll never bloom, they’ll never rise —

Just thorns that pierce, yet wear no guise.

Her dreams — now buried, never born —

Will haunt me like a crown of thorn.

For her eyes were not just eyes —

They were my prayer, my world, my skies.

Now scattered through the winds of fate,

They shimmer still — but far too late.

So let me wander, let me yearn,

Let every face become a burn.

For I will search until I die,

Those lake-deep eyes, that sacred sky.

And maybe then, in death’s own grace,

I’ll find again her endless face.