Since a teen, I used to think
That someone lived on the brink….
Of the clouds, or maybe the strata above them
Drawing the horizons of sphere then and then
I could feel through the window, in the warmth of the sunshine
It’s smile, trying to bring the best of mine….
Same was the case with the boisterous moonlight
As if it’s cool sneeze used to seize the job of drowning me into sleep at midnight…..
And every time I used to cry
I think it used to wet it’s bed, or cry all along, only to try….
To brush off what I wanted to stay
In order to remind me of the reminisce days
When I could see life and feel it’s unparalleled love in Languor
Which would bring a smile on my face, as I was a life’s paramour….
But now I live by this very abled parable Window, aka my dearest dove
Capable of being my disabled soul’s beloved, than a broken widow