What be a window but a hollowed wall
With rungs to hold so we do not fall?
What be a window but an opening bare
To a world that flows without a care?

A faithful friend to a travelling mind,
It holds the thought that stays behind
As life scrambles and runs up fast
To overtake those that surge past.

A window blinks in bright sunshine
It smells of flowers and drops of wine
For here is where one toasts the sky,
And lovers meet to kiss goodbye.

A howling wind she makes a feather.
At her feet pools of water gather,
Whether rain or tears, that I know not.
The window would; she never forgot.

She weaves through moments new and old
And laces them with strands of gold
Sweet music fills nostalgia deep
And lulls a restless soul to sleep.

A fire relit, a spirit rekindled,
A scoopful of the past re-bundled;
The window shows what one can find
In the recesses of a human mind.

An open door, they say, will bring
A chance to make your fortune sing
A window though, through joy and gloom,
can sing a soul and make it bloom.

– January 2016


One thought on “Window

  1. I’m privileged with a gluttony of windows. I’m happy and honored to sometimes be allowed to glimpse, distorted and subjective as it may be, India trough your eyes. Distorted may be the wrong word, “enhanced” perhaps; because frequently I’d miss the significance of what I’m seeing if not for your commentary.


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