RedPaper.in – Poetry
By: Preeti Vyas | RedPaper.in
Every window has its own story to tell,
Compelling you to look outside from your secret small world,
Mine shows me the reflection of the setting sun,
Over the tall buildings in the front.
And sometimes it shows me the reflection of an airplane,
Taking its passenger to a land far, far away.
There are dried twigs of those trees,
Adorning themselves with the winter spree.
There is an open balcony of the house aside,
Floor covered with snow, roof dripping like ice.
There is a continuous pattern on a wall,
Which is made by the seasons of summer and fall.
And there are birds too enjoying the dusk’s hue,
Flying high and low, making me look at the patterns they drew.
Now, it’s showing me those Christmas lights,
And people cheering up in delight.
But, what if they all see me through the window too,
I have no stories to tell, no words, no hues.
I have a boring life with screens and tables,
And I spend it all in a loop, going nowhere.
But I do live on the other side of the glass,
Through my window, separated from their world apart.