Two little eyes with a little girl.
Knows how a volcano looks,
May be a fruit stall.
Or even some Blyton books.
Those little eyes had chances,
For a garden and flower,
Or a parent quarrel glances,
A pencil and an eraser.
Twinkling eyes might see,
An inspiring teacher;
A screaming refugee;
Friend and fun, laughter.
The eyes may clap at,
A luxury resort sunrise;
Silent stream’s water splat;
A begging palm of a mother-wise.
Tiny eyelids may flap,
On a rape victim’s whine;
Pamper of mother’s lap;
Or a terrace moon shine.
Tandem events the eyes visit,
May be a falling star;
A modern room well-lit;
Also a morbid father’s scar.
Tracing back her eye record,
Tells she saw a blood pool;
A loving maid with regard;
Or even a mirror and fool.
To her eyes, came afore.
A splendid flavored water fall;
A brother dying by a sea shore;
Who knows, may be her own call.
Twin eyes scanned ahead,
Lavish parade of fruit and nut;
Loving wave from granny’s hand;
An injured backbone on master’s hit.
Tattered eyes may gulp in,
A live porn to fill in tum;
A half graced plate from dust bin;
Mundane morning in dirty slum.
Tale of this fairy’s eyes sung,
Will extend until severe long.
All those little eyes do not see the same.
Butterfly, drums, shutter or any name,
Tiny eyes make lifetime film,
Some were happy, sad or sublime.
So, How was your luck?!
Have a nice day! :)
