Eyes

a reflective piece by B.Devanandana


art by Fiza Mohsin


“You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”

~Ocean Vuong


most of the fallible i’ve had the privilege of knowing are obsessed with eyes. from the poets, to the artists, to the ones thinking they are incapable of love, to the lovers, every one of them absolutely love eyes.


eyes. the loneliest and emptiest creation of the universe. so much of the beauty of the earth passes through them, and they still hold nothing the next second. so much does the heart and soul feel and it still is just as empty.


the earthlings i wrote about now may have an argument against the statement i made, saying how eyes hold so many emotions one cannot interpret. but isn’t it the eyebrows that slightly perk up and the eyelids that wake up when i see the person i love? isn’t it the apple of my cheeks that make my eyes go diminutive when i smile? isn't it my eyebrows that scrunch when i am confused? isn't it my eyebrows that shoot up taking my eyelids along and my jaw that hangs when i am surprised? Isn’t it my heart that feels and my lips that twitch up at the corner and my eyelids that close halfway when i adore someone? it's everything else but not the eyes. it’s everything else but not the hungry and lonely eyes that do not even realize that there’s another one just like them an inch away.


and i wonder to myself, why do the mortals love eyes so much? why do you find something so lonely and empty so beautiful? maybe it is human tendency, to love things that are empty, broken, hungry and lonely. maybe it is how i love poets, and how my father loves my mother, maybe it is how the rain loves the tainted earth, and how the earth loves decaying roses.


and humans love eyes, because they are the decaying roses and the tainted earth, they are my mother and poets, they are broken, empty, lonely, hungry and beautiful.