by Suyash Saxena
(New Delhi, India.)
In one corner of my room,
That is shaped like a tomb,
There is a window, where I sit
And see my world through it.
I see the rising sun,
I see the melting dew,
I see the blooming flowers,
I see the sky’s changing hues.
Through it
I embrace the fading sun,
I live the joyous rains,
I feel the flowery fragrance,
I walk those lonely ways.
Through it
I float with the summer clouds,
I breathe the winter breeze,
I touch the autumn leaves,
I celebrate the cuckoo’s springtime songs.
Through the window,
I see my world.
Neither the autumn leaves,
Nor the springtime songs;
Neither the winter sunshine,
Nor the summer rains;
Would have been great
Had it not been through my window rails.
Through my window,
I see the world.
In the window, lies the entire bliss;
Beyond the window is only an illusion.
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