The Window

The solitary piece of heaven which peers through my window,
Weaves dreams of the scornful sun and the lashing rain,
And I hold on to these frame'd delusions to consider,
The eternal beauty of the world through the gaze of my window!

With reflections traversing but not afar the Alps,
You stare at a million specks nearby,
An auburn tree waiting desolately on the brilliant snow,
A tiny frame of the world in its own colourful glow!

And as you sieve through the moments that make up your life,
Stifling visions to match the contours of the edge,
You wonder what name to christen your world with,
Is it Heaven, earth or Heaven on earth?

But when the enchanted dusk paints the sky in crimson,
You strain your ears to hear the cries of those wounded hearts,
And feel the consuming insignificance of,
The eternal beauty of the world through the gaze of your window!

Unfettering yourself from the chains and borders of your own mind,
You sail away on distant voyages to uncharted places,
Ruminating on how one paints the boundaries of countries,
With this infinite image staining the window lens..

Yet unconcerned is my window about religion,
Heedless is it of nationality,
Oblivious of greed and possession,
Is the window to my own tiny world!

Am indeed indebted to the window of that hotel room, the ceaseless snowfall over the weekend and the blocked roads which forced me to skip work and inspired me to scribble this.