The Window

Nights of rain, days of blaze,
Colours of dusk and dawns of haze,
Irksome barks and whispered purrs,
Clasps of thunder 
Sky falling ‘sunder, 
A bamboo creak, the roaring wind,
A bolt of light, the stroke of night, 
The whiff of dung, the stink of roe, 
The joy of life, the gloom of woe,
The temple gong, the bells of church, 
A gypsy calling on a search,
The mango tree with its swooning leaves,
And songs that ride on the selfsame breeze —
Of pigeons and parakeets,
The tailorbird’s plea that life awaits, 
The owlet crying the night awake —
Voices of Earth amid the din of men,
Quakes of clarity in a sea of vain,
The warmth of the summer and the crisps of spring, 
An aperture through which 
To snitch with wistful eyes
The moments of my beloved’s leave,
And the rousing sight of her joyous turn, — oh, so dear — 
And with it, the sun of my realm. 
As the morning steps in on slanting feet,
To break the dream and raise in me 
Another day to love and learn 
And twine in play and fun,
Of an epiphany reek I:
My window hath brought me this and more,
And taken not even space.

3 Comments Add yours

  1. Sourabha Rao says:

    Reblogged this on Silkworm Slumbers and commented:
    My man of art, my man of immense, infinite poetry!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ayyo, my Mudduuu, I may be infinite, just like you, but the poetry in me is only you! ❤️ Thankuuu!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Sourabha Rao says:

    This is new for me, and is so so special. I love you.

    Liked by 1 person

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