I'll gently look at the eyes
see, whether they speak
to my mute heart,
then  smile to myself.
I am just a collector
of eye stories- the history
recorded in eyes
without one being aware of it,
an old habit as a reporter
on the side lines watching every
pair of eyes to learn  life reflected
on many kinds of eyes.

a flutter, is welcome
may be we'll become
more than friends,
a  fleeting look says
come another time
even if it doesn't happen
no regrets, oh! lost.
a deep long look
comes straight in to my
heart's silent centre
aren't we of the same kind?
A wishful look, makes me sad
some one once lost;
love can be hurtful
beyond all words,
life is like that.
eyes that avoid contact
tells stories, a painful history.
every look has the patent
of the one who possesses
now I am
only an observer
painter of eyes, the most
beautiful part of humans
in my heart
- think of a string
of eyes of every kind,
kindness to rudeness reflected.
I would discern all that,
through the
gleam,that tells
everything.