Eyes

There's a certain one,
In my borrowed world-
Who makes my skin crawl.
The sight irks me,
Day in and day out.
The obnoxious vox,
Oozes artificiality-
As it sugar-coats all hidden intent.
I despise slyness,
I dislike under handedness-
A fair player,
I reward me with silence mostly.
I encourage a halo of peace all around me,
For I cease to exist in the moment-
But snap back to reality as soon.
Despite, a wandering mind,
I do have capacity for details-
Where I don't want the fox to trot on!
Therein lies my ire-
Of hearing tangible fakeness-
Reminders set as hungry ring-tones.
Given the holes in my world at present,
Or rather the lack of it-
I'd hoped for the human contact to be minimum-
Yet ironical be my prayers.
Dreams and life bear an inverse relation, indeed.
So the mule,
Prances about-
With honeyed words
As it's lances.
Untying the laces of my control.
Goosebumped, I shiver-
In silent anger at the parsimony of space.
Run my fingers through now,
My almost waist touching hair-
To breathe and calm down.
The fight rages on,
Behind shut eyes-
And when I open them-
I am greeted by more of the syrupy smile.
I seethe inwardly,
Praying for a magic carpet.
Yet once when cooled-
I look at my object of consternation,
With awe and fascination-
To evoke so much in the otherwise wooden me.
I see the loose clothes,
Draping the scrawny self-
And the uncombed hair,
Untamed and uncared for.
I see a fierce determination,
Behind the yellow frames-
Which otherwise I term 'sly'.
I see the deftness and tenacious perseverance,
Exhibited at multi-tasking,
In the crunched space that
Time affords.
And as I let my eyes,
Take in the little things,
I find myself, quite humbled-
With a cry,
I realize,
That was it not me
A couple of years back-
Just like this, maybe.
I have changed-
Yes, I know.
Colder, angrier and more warring-
I know my own warren by now.
Loveless, I share little joy with most-
Callous and hard,
I stare as I absorb.
But as I gaze into the wide eyes,
Do I see a streak of vulnerability lurking within?
I step back,
Analyze my own thoughts-
Question my own feelings-
Past my constant numbed state.
Is it that,
I am scared to see the soul stripped bare?
Maybe, cynicism has earmarked the darkened me now-
Insouciance pervades into my cellular being.
I define my space as absolute-
Not to be trodden by anyone.
I care in my acre-
For some close-
Knowing fully well,
That none is reciprocated anyway.
Yet as I look at the bewildered brown eyes,
In front me-
Do I feel compassion well up?
Or is it solidarity,
To have sensed one of my own?