Tag Archives: Windows

Fact and Fantasy

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was it true or was I dreaming? I couldn’t wrench my eyes off the scene. In fact, I couldn’t have enough of it.

I checked the clock to be sure. Yes, it was half past eleven. Almost midnight. But outside my window, the world was bright. Like day, yet not quite. It felt like I had stepped into a painting, another universe– a place I’d never been to before.

The blizzard had run out of steam, or taken a pause so it seemed. The air was still. The naked trees were sporting a shiny new coat of snow. The sky was white, so was the earth. There was no sound, nothing moved, yet everything throbbed with life. I was in awe.

It was too fantastic to be true. Yet true it was. I had the proof outside my window.

The Window : The Boy on the Street

the window

The view from inside the first courtyard of The Palazzo Vecchio- the town hall of Florence, Italy.

The Boy on The Street

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The entire world passes by

While she remains static

Finding relief from her reminiscences

Her morose thoughts

`

A young man passes by

An inquisitive light in his eyes

She knows not his name

It’s but a trifling detail

`

She welcomes the anonymous exchanges

A smile

Sometimes a wave

And assembles a hazy dream

Of carefree tomorrows

And hopeful todays

Windows

 

Windows

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Clean windows, plain, glass, open, close, bright,

Light, shaded, paned, shuttered, blinded, boarded,

Rusty, dirty, smoky windows.

Broken, shattered, run down windows

Windows that protect and hide,

a mirror to the world outside

and sometimes to the world within

unraveling layer by layer, revealing,

A tool for introspection and scrutiny,

A glance into a soul, full of secrets and smokescreens,

Evasion, denial, half-truths

Windows, they tell it all.  

PS: The photograph is a view of the shops on Ponte Vecchio (old bridge) across the Arno River, in Florence, Italy.

PPS: Like the poem? If so do check out my poetry and short story collection ‘Under the Shade of the Banyan Tree’

The Girl at the Window

windows 2-001

Safdarjung Tomb, Delhi, India

The Girl at the Window

—o—

I see her everyday

At the window of her house

Her face lurking in the shadows

Finding cover in the veil of secrecy

Obscurity in a shroud of seclusion

But her beauty is not hidden from me

`

She’s a princess

From a faraway exotic land

I know not her name

Yet she has become a part of my life

My daily scenery

And I miss her now that she is gone