Eight times the poem says Luksi's name. The speaker gets three "I"s and, at the very end, a single "me". That imbalance is nearly the whole story. n0tmae gives us someone who watches another so closely that there is hardly any self left in the picture, and who only turns the gaze around in the final line, to say what they are not. The poem never tells us who or what Luksi is, a friend, a sibling or something else, and that blankness suits a poem about seeing someone only from outside.
The colours do the quiet work. "Luksi is green, / And I am blue" sets two people side by side like paint swatches. English readers will hear "blue" as sad, and "green" can suggest envy, and the poem seems to know it and then upset the pattern. Luksi is "not happy," yet a few lines later "Luksi is not blue." So unhappiness and blueness are not the same thing here. Blue seems to belong to the speaker as a kind of identity, almost a label, rather than a passing mood. Judging by the imagery, the speaker feels like the one who is blue, while the person they admire is simply Luksi. The envy the green might suggest has quietly moved to the wrong side of the comparison.
The construction is deliberately bare. Almost every line is a short statement built on "is," so the poem moves like a child pointing at things: Luksi is this, Luksi is that. There is no rhyme, and the music comes from repetition. "Luksi is pretty" appears twice, and the second time it is no longer a compliment but a reflex. Between the two sits the one stanza that breaks the pattern, "Very pretty. / The prettiest." The sentences shrink to fragments while the praise climbs to a superlative, as if the speaker were pushing the word harder because it isn't doing what they need.
What they need it to do emerges in the third stanza. "Luksi is not happy. / I don't know why." The speaker's whole vocabulary of value is prettiness, so unhappiness doesn't compute. Their next move is to repeat the explanation that has already failed: "Luksi is pretty. / And green." That last fragment is a small shock. Green began as a plain fact about Luksi, but now it sits in the list of things that should be enough, so a colour has turned into a compliment. The title, "I See," starts to read two ways. The speaker sees Luksi, but "I see" is also what we say when we finally understand, and this speaker keeps arriving at the edge of understanding without crossing it.
Then comes the tautology "Luksi is Luksi." It sounds like a shrug, but it is also the poem's most generous line. After all the adjectives, the speaker concedes that Luksi cannot be reduced to pretty or green, that Luksi is a whole person (or being) with an inner life the speaker can't read. Set beside it, "Not me" lands hard. It can be heard as a wish, "I wish it were me," or as a flat verdict that the speaker is not Luksi, not pretty, not the one things are measured against. It is the poem's only line without Luksi in it, and its last word is the first time the speaker becomes the subject. The ambiguity is probably the point.
The poem is also marked as a translation, so the English we read may carry choices we can't see. I don't know the original language or who translated it, and I won't guess. What I can say is that the plainness works in English. The poem's significance lies in how much it gets out of so little. With a handful of colour words and one repeated name, it captures a feeling many readers will recognise, admiring someone so completely that you start to define yourself only as their opposite. It doesn't resolve that feeling or comfort the speaker. It lets "Not me" hang there, and we are left to decide whether it is sorrow, honesty, or the first step toward something else.