His Eyes

He's thinking

As he sits and yaps.

His imagination runs up and down

and his words are flowing

like asali. Sweet asali.

He's not confused, he's not mistaken.

He's lost in the milky way of his thoughts;

his incoherently clear musings.

I hear the words he says,

the dreams he makes,

the breath he takes,

and he way his heart aches.

As he thinks of what's to come.

Though he sits in what is,

he looks fondly to what will be.

But his eyes.

The window to his soul.

I see how they brighten,

how automatically they widen,

with the intonation of his words

and the excitement of his statements.

They tell me so much,

yet hold back much more.

Oh how they crease to half their size,

when he whole heartedly smiles.

I behold the depth of those eyes,

drowning in the depths of delight

And I see how they drop as he sighs

And the struggle they tell when he tries

To keep it to himself.

They are electric,

magnetic,

poetic.

But I lose track of what he says

because the sun's mesmerising rays

illuminate those eyes mid gaze.

And there they are,

big and bright,

brought to their higher form by light.

I am lost

And I stare

as they hold me captive,

Beautiful amd bare.

And what's left

Is me in the raw presence

Of the gateways to his soul.

For if indeed I am lost,

that's where i want to be found.

His eyes, they tell me so much

But hold back much more.