seriously, keenly, thoroughly

if we engage with other eyes
just for a moment
we can lend each other
our perception
and make a small picnic.

take them, my eyes,
my proud orchard.
while I rove around with your eyes
and save hence, some landscape
you can remember me by.

look, here the city dwellers
and their seasonal interlude.
the cyclists on young paths
narrowed only by elated puddles.
retired koels and gay tailorbirds
carpenters, bakers, travelers
sweet wood infants budding from
once awashed river tamarind.

look, re-instituted rumors
after transitory, annual hiatus
romance afoot, mysteries resumed.
plaids in cars, Fridas in rickshaws,
breakfasts, admissions, intoxications.
through lanes graced by
newly hitched bougainvillea,
milkmen, clowders, lovers.

look, migratory flocks
and in a ceaseless attempt
to embrace them,
a desperate, ascending wave.
crows and dogs, each distracted
by the other on a perennial evening,
their soft hued, kind mistress.

and at long last, you.
look at your reticent self
from your eyes, briefly mine.
the trace you deploy
the hum you produce
that thing that you do
and strike yourself, then with
the great old interrogation-

why haven’t I loved myself
seriously, keenly, thoroughly?