I look at this window every now and then
As it reflects different stories on this rectangular canvas.
Seasons change, so do the colour of skies
What does not change are the curtains on the two sides
As lifeless as they could be, through days
The only time they’re lively is
when they flutter with a sudden gust of wind
As if dancing out of joy, after ages of waiting.
But the wind doesn’t come often.
And when it does, the windows shut
To avert the mess inside.
And everything is still, again.
It is like,
I’m the curtain and you’re the wind
And the window is my heart, trying to forget you.

What’s the best thing
about waking up in the morning?
Is it the sunlit sky
Dripping of the tangerine hue
The scent of coffee, as it brews
Tangled hair that play with cold breeze
The pillow, that smells of your shampoo,
Or is it a respite from long, gloomy nights
Charred lungs, unsettled soul and sunken eyes
A pause button in your dark episode
Or a harbinger of new hope,
Hope, that today would be better
That today would be new,
As fresh as the morning dew
Indeed, the best thing about mornings
Is that you can wake up sober
And knowing, that you can start over.