Eyes
/
She has sad eyes. Forlorn. Longing.
Young, but not innocent. She’s seen things.
She hid, she ran, she learnt.
Yet her troubles still follow.
So she smiles wide, laughs and parties.
But it’s just a cover.
Mostly she’s acting.
In attempting to fool herself, she loses herself.
Questions arise. These questions she ignores.
Her worries are of the future,
Yet she lives for the now.
Avoiding. Pretending. Feeling. Breaking.
But she is young, and she is pretty,
So most are captured by her smile.
Not by the pain in her eyes,
Reflecting the depth of her soul.
I wrote this poem a while ago, about a lady who is no longer in my life. A lady who would always put on a brave face for the world - a mask of bubbly, flirty, fun - to hide the truth lying just below the surface.
She was lonely, scared and confused. To survive adulthood, she had learnt to present a facade to the world, and embodied it, so much so, that even she started to believe that the mask was her truth…
But the truth is, I don’t know if any of that is real - or just my interpretation of a look and a conversation interspersed with my feelings and life experiences at the time - the reality is that the inner world of this lady is, and always will be, a mystery to me.
That lady is no longer in my life. All that remains of her is a memory or her sad, forlorn and longing eyes.
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