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.