REBATE

I don’t know what to say
For the pieces that just don't fit in

No matter how much I try

May be I don’t get the right ones

I try n find my way

Through the labyrinth up and down

But don’t know which is right

All seem like mirrors in betray

I trust you, you all so much

And then you make and break it

What container do I hold?

That pours the water through holes

And I carry it with me everywhere

Filling it with self again

But nah, it perforates, precipitates

And I make the mistake, to delegate,

To entrust upon you

Rather you all just walk through

And let it disintegrate

While I rebate

My good deeds

In expense to your misdeeds upon me

Again n Again n Again.

WorDs of EYES

They say ‘Eyes are windows to our souls’ .Well, indeed they are. And I am not telling this because someone said so but because that’s how I peeped into some souls, straight down into their hearts.

There are dark brown eyes, chocolate brown eyes, light brown eyes, amber eyes, cat eyes, green eyes, blue eyes even white dilapidated eyes and of course the fake lenses eyes. But does the color really matter much? Does that tell if the person is truthful and trustworthy? Not Really…

A beautiful kid, with blue eyes that seemed to shine emerald when he would be angry, turn to blue when he was sad and reflect  the vibrancy of the sun in daylight, was a friend of mine when we were kids. A few years later it turned out that the sweetness with which I am describing his eyes right now met with a contrast to his character that had degraded with time, the color of his eyes still shined sapphire at noon.

Petite amber eyes that hung on this little boy’s face seemed like sparkles of the morning dew over the blades of grass. With the twinkle that lingered in his naturally chocolate shades, he could make many hearts skip a beat or maybe even two. But alas, his stories only ended in betrayals.

Yet another pair of green eyes, more of cat like, one look and a godly figure would seem to appear before you with a gaze that strong, that it could affix you to stay and watch him blink a million times softly again and again and again. What could be worse that these playful eyes wore the mask over a playboy.

Brown eyes, darker than the color of mud, mysterious, mystical puzzle in every way. A gaze that could follow you and hypnotize you that very instance, clutch you in its vision like a snake grabs hold of its prey. And as with every struggle of prey the predator gets a stronger hold over it, so do those beautifully carved out eyes as they catches a glimpse of yours.

I don’t know how I determine the underlying feeling behind recognizing a person with a gaze in his/her eyes, but here are some moments when I find the reflections of the sweetest souls floating over the eyes of the few.

Dark brown are they. I see them almost every day. There is a sense of softness and patience in those pores that I doubt I have seen anywhere else ever. Tender to the others around, like a tendril to a climber, like a warm feather over the new hatchlings, the vision in between melts wherever they look, making the course seem softer and milder, even if it is not.

Innocent and gentle, they are the color of mud. Big, large places they occupy as they control every expression on her face and pour out the deepest of emotions from, if any, ever made corner in her heart. You know her stages of sensitiveness, anger, playfulness, worry, fun and truthfulness.  You know she is pure and though quite judgmental yet so herself and not even a mist of fakeness surrounds the curves of her eyeballs.

White, reflecting in morning light, clearly giving signs of a cloudy vision of cataract, she gives the hints of worry, stress, sleepless nights and more clearly fear. There is weakness in her vision, her gaze not too strong. When you meet her eyes, you see them distantly looking into yours, lost in thought of some distant world or fear of the consequences of the present. Her rings of iris, as if trying to spread apart with time and trying to fade off into the white area, so much wanting to meet its serenity and tranquility. Her tiring gaze with half shattered hopes, as if tired of making a clay pot over a wheel that turns out into a bad shape, with every hard spin she tried to give it . Her eyes, swelled in their sockets, out of the tears that makes the rest of the space. Her once beautiful, lovely eyes seem to now plead for the freedom of the beneath trapped soul.