Through My Window

By Prasanjit Das

Those were the days,

When I felt the warmth of dazzling sunrays,

Witnessed the blooming flowers,

Heard the melodious showers,

Sensed the cool fresh breeze

That made me reach a state of calmness and peace.

Listened birds chirping,

Laughed at squirrels quarreling,

Watched butterflies searching for nectar

By wandering here and there in the blossoming sector.

Grinned at the trees-my dear brothers

Providing shade to the tired traders

All through my window.

But now, there is no such sight,

Trying to reach me are those rays of light

But are masked by a big dusty bronze cloud

That took birth from our city crowd.

No sign of cool fresh breeze,

Spread everywhere is the smell of petrol, diesel and grease.

Precipitation turned from heavy falls to few drops,

Blooming flowers got replaced by commercial crops,

Birds and squirrels are made to yell,

For them, world is no more heavenly, it’s a bloody hell,

Trees are either cruelly slaughtered

Or immodestly denuded,

They are flooded with waves of sorrow and grief,

No sparing, not even a single leaf.

Separated from their leaves, they are now leading a life of a widow.

Now this is what I see through my window.

My eyes are witnessing the marred beauty of nature,

Misfortune of several innocent creatures,

Everything through my window looks altered, what remains same

Is my cratered window frame.

By Prasanjit Das