The Fog On My Window

By Abhirami J. S.

A small peep I threw through the curtains of my window

Offered its transparency fogged by the wetness of rain

My eyes, at last, not welcomed by vast skies or dying plants or lost meadows

Or of sick neighborhoods with sicker beings spreading sickness and pain

Pulled to its own sphere of a beautiful grey lined with sweet scents

A break from the see through panes to the world and from it to me

The long hated window view, hated for its monotonous splash of colours

A scream of life that broke its own voice once stepped out

The awaiting eyes of dread staring right back at even the slightest glance

Dark skies held the world better, painted it honest, painted it dark

No screaming colours, just plain poor silent embracing dark

Every shadow mistaken, every movement covered, everything hidden

A world within one’s own, one that exists without the clutches of light

Without the scorching scrutiny offered by sight, the ugly lines revealed

Without suffocating reality blinding the eyes with every passing time.

By Abhirami J. S.