I look at you and I do not wish for the superficiality of a color. To say your eyes are blue, or green, or brown, that is merely to name the paint on a shut door. It is too easy. It is too certain. And I am interested only in the uncertainty of the soul.

My hope for you is a kind of stripping away. When others stop before you, arrested by your presence, may they be struck by a sudden, holy amnesia regarding the physical. May they forget the pigment. May they fail to find the words for the spectrum of light and instead stumble upon the pulse of your being.

I want them to say, with a voice hushed by the weight of a secret: “How they sparkle.” Not with the glint of glass, but with the wet, living vibration of kindness. I want them to see a compassion that gleams like a dark sun in the center of your pupils, a light that does not reflect, but arrives from somewhere deep and unmapped.
Let your eyes be a mirror where the world finally sees itself loved. Not a color, but a radiation. A silence that speaks. A look that is, in itself, an act of grace.

Saravá!

©️ Beatriz Esmer