Deep kohl eyes

Life never reaches its destination 

There is always that little 

That cups its face on its two hands 

And ponders 

Often peering into the glass 

From one mirror to the other 

As it walks

Rushing glances obstinate and stormy 

Leaps between windows, doors, faces, eyes, quietude 

the baker's glasses, the florist's windows, the book seller's warm greetings.

It run back home to the everyday eyes on the dressing tables 

transparent lapel 

When I stone the reflections 

and try to climb in with solutions and verdicts

Life denies me the smoothness of swollen coffee 

I find a woman deep within verses and chapters 

Unrehearsed 

Decked with the unassuming 

Life says,' I offer you no chains.

You are free to knife your ties.'

I wonder if it is just to cease with the unexplored

The self preserving roots, and breeds

To enormous love

the sacrificial

The magnificent and lasting!

Mornings when papers talk about suicides and disappearances 

And the festivals amass happiness and move on 

I wonder why chew onto the apparition of what could have been and what will be?

Life has got no columns 

No construct 

No victories 

No eternities 

It's only got its knowing 

With its two deep kohl eyes 

of insomnia and sleep.