The eye

The eye, a complex thing. So simple, yet infinitely complex. So uncomplicated, yet so deep. At first glance, a black orb, surrounded by a layer of colour, all immersed in a pool of white. But who can take a mere glance? One look is never enough, for when the eyes are gazed into, it is not the eyes that are seen, but the person themselves. Upon first glance, one is sucked in. Taken in to what is the eye.

Such complexity hidden behind an unadorned façade. The sea of white is as unique as the eye bearer. Different shades, different shapes, different eyes. Some white, others cream; some pure, some scathed by redness. But never ugly, is never not what it was meant for. The white is a contrast, a difference. The offset to the colour is so perfect, so balanced. Brown, green, blue or grey, this splash of colour is always beautiful. It grabs, it holds on tight. It draws the attention to the centre of the eye, the heart of the eye itself. This black orb is infinitely more than an adorned black spot. Nor is it mere black. No-one has ever seen such an unblemished black as is in the centre of eye. Where can one ever hope to find such purity elsewhere? Blackness unscathed, so pure, so perfect. It says so much with so little; one mere colour. It uses not emotion, nor sound, but is always serene silence.

When looking into the eyes of the one whom one knows well, so much can be seen in the eye. Unblemished black and white with a mere splash of seedy colour speak so fluently of character, feelings, emotions. Pictures may paint thousands of words, but eyes tell so much more. They can smile, they can shout, can growl, yell, scream. They can love, or the eye can hate. How is it that something so commonplace can say so much to the one whom can interpret their message?