A rectangular hole in four walls,
Makes a window where the wind flows,
But this wasn’t one of those.
In this concrete jungle, I suppose,
Overlapping houses are right under the nose.
Though I was on the first floor,
I couldn’t see a seesaw or a seashore.
I stood in my room,
My eyes straining to zoom,
But all I saw was a wall about to sprout some mushrooms,
And a wooden window with pink glooms.
Two stained glasses,
One was slightly cracked,
The intricate straight lines,
Now home to spider webs.
A canvas for my ever-growing shadows,
As my world’s view narrows,
Only God knows which stories follow.
Every day as I unlatched my room’s eye,
The ageing wooden smell greets my nose,
Seeing the view, I sigh.
A new tear appears,
A shade of pink dissolves in the air,
Making my curiosity flare.
What was behind that wreck?
Was there a rat sneaking in through the cracks?
Or was there a ghost, looking for some snacks?
A witch, perhaps, planning her vicious attacks?
Or was there a society of elves doing jumping jacks?
My mind was out of tracks,
I had run out of guesses.
Biting my nails,
I took a deep breath,
Maybe it was for the best,
No sun ever shone behind that pink veil,
No wind ever flowed through the sealed cracks,
Just thick silence as layers of dust stack.
By: Foram Hemantkumar Thorat
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