I stared into his eyes:
Big eyes,
Old eyes
Eyes that had seen life
And seen Life turn its back on him.
Nothing left to him now
With which to draw a veil over the soul
And shield the self from prying eyes.
I saw him.
Thought I knew him
For the splitest of split seconds.
Neither energy nor inclination
For anger or recrimination
Resided anywhere in him.
He was past hope,
Past the point of disappointment,
Beyond desperation,
Beyond self-pity –
Though I doubt he ever wondered: “Why me?”.
He was acceptance in illustration:
The perfect incarnation
Of the purest resignation.
I don’t think he really registered me –
Why should he?
How could he?
For I belonged to another world,
A greater world,
A world of being and having
A world denied him:
The world of the Living.
He blinked painfully slowly
And turned his pathetically heavy infant head
Away from me –
It was a kindness he showed me,
The kindest thing he could do for me,
For one not born into his world
One not meant to see.
Maybe he saw me as a ghost,
An angel,
An avatar,
An after-living-death form of life,
Citizen of some unimaginable heaven
With no reference point inside his solid shell of hell.
He gave me all he had to give
Without a single thought….
But can I,
Will I,
Learn and heed the lesson
The eyes of this dying child taught.
