Tag Archives: Eye

An all-seeing eye of cosmos opened
within me having an epistemic sense of
power. The rain trickled down the oval-shaped

wet window. ‘Twasn’t a blue eye, yet ’twas bluing.

The blues of the stars
were trickling
out of their core. Over
your tasting part of the tongue full of sensations
about itself, suffering words
struck the silence between us. I could not
comprehend their sense- their meaning

sank in the sadness of the rain.

The blues were absorbed by this rising dreariness.
I couldn’t see you. Nor could I
achieve the tranquility of mind. However,
I might presume that God might see this.

© copyright Marieta Maglas

The Blue – Eyed Boy’s Mother

The little boy sleepily stumbled
Into the constricted room,
“Mama,” he sobbed, puzzled,
And she gathered him in her arms…
She rocked him gently to sleep
Until his blue eyes closed…
She chanted a little prayer to keep
Her little boy safe and gently
Wished him a lovely dream
That he could see,
Unlike the darkness he saw
When he was wide awake…


Placing her little boy on the bed
She hurried to her job…
She slipped into the black robe
And wrapped the black scarf
Around her beautiful hair…
She lowered the veil down her face
That she hoped would separate
Reality from the nightmare…
She stepped out to the night
As dark as her cheap robe,
Hailed a dilapidated cab
And headed to the city…


The music that the bar chose
Was not of great taste,
But the men still gathered around
The stage where she danced
Out of spite, in the blue dress
That glittered seductively,
Unlike her blue eyes that were dead…
Intoxicated by the drinks, they broke
Glasses when they applauded…
Intoxicated by her numb blue eyes
And milky, silky skin that glowed,
The ravenous men cooed…


Her feet ached and head throbbed,
The sweat-drenched chiffon clung
To her subconsciously dancing body,
Intent stares burnt blisters
On her skin and in her conscience…
Past midnight, in the early hours,
She shed down the skin of sin,
Slipped back into her black robe
And pulled down the veil once more…
Grabbing the stinking notes held out,
She disappeared into the darkness again
To get back home, to her little boy…


The little blue eyes fluttered open,
Glassy they were, staring past her…
The absence of light in them
Tore at her heart as she watched
Her little boy drink his milk…
She counted the notes that stank
And put them back in the rusting box…
She sighed and the tiny brows
Above the blue eyes rose
At the slightest sound from his mother…
“Mama, are you all right?”
The innocent lips worried…


There were many more nights
Of burning stares, stinking wine sweats,
And intent, lust-filled words…
Many more nights of aching feet,
Throbbing head, sweat-drenched chiffon
Clinging to her tiring body…
Many more blisters to form
In her conscience divided
Between honor and sinning
To buy sight from the surgeon
For her little boy’s blue eyes…
There were many more nights…

(From my second collection ‘The Room of Mirrors : Reflections in Words’)