I can assert without fear of contradiction that there is gold dust in your eyes,
from whichever angle I look I can see it there glittering exactly like what it is.
But for some unknowable reason you always shift them away to avoid meeting mine.
I think it true and I am living in the conviction that you don’t want them to be seen.
I was born with brown eyes, dark brown like the soil, and unrefined like rough stones,
and I will die with them, I don’t mind, my eyes are what they are and they see
just as well as yours. But even so I was puzzled when, as if in order to atone,
you said they were beautiful, but more so was I puzzled when I realized you meant it.
It leads to the inevitable conclusion that you saw only beauty with such beautiful eyes,
everywhere you looked, which I envied for I only ever saw beauty when I looked at you.
Strange that one can find beauty everywhere but in one’s self, but I beg you: rise.
Look up. Don’t shut the world out like it will spoil you, or the reverse, like you will spoil it.
I can promise you such a thing would never happen, but I can also explicitly convey
that the earth mourns it never gets to see you. Please don’t hide yourself away.
Such eyes could only reflect such a soul, and they are meant for seeing and being seen.
If I can step out with my eyes like coal, so can you follow me.