I Saw An Old Woman The Other Day

I saw an old woman the other day,
Bent at the back,
Outran by time and age,
Standing there; a prisoner in her own body.
I threw a glance her way,
Just another one, counting down their days,
Or so I thought.

But then she raised her eyes,
And I looked into them,
Those piercing green eyes,
They tell a story; those eyes of hers,
Every speck of nonconformity, every twitch of the pupil,
Her joy and sadness, among countless others I’d imagine,
The moment of her moments: a compilation of her stories.

Overwhelmed to behold such a sight,
It’s rattled my heart and made me shudder.

I might’ve stared too long,
Because her eyes smiled at mine,
As I become a part of her story,
And she, a part of mine.