Life On Windowpane

The window of your room

Or maybe of the office cabin

Or possibly the one opening to backyard

Have stories of Greek and Latin.

They’ve seen men hustling

Observed stormy rains turning to rainbow

The dark sky surrendering to shine

And the ruined lives taking a perfect flow.

Their windowpanes have been touched by shower drops,

Nourished with the tiny plants sprouting

Out of their cemented bricks

Which perhaps lack a solid grouting.

But then they too have heard birds chirping

And chicks hopping out of eggs

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With their nestling mommy and daddy

Who’ve built a dwelling on these window heads.

With the morning rays, they wake,

Toil all day long in search of food,

To feed their chicks, the sweetie baby birds,

In a world that’s loaded with witty nerds.

And then in the dusk

With the setting of reddened sun

They return back to their roost

On the windowpane that’s hardly cleaned by anyone.

With these chirps and tweets

Trying to narrate their tales

The windowpanes get filled with life

As they watch how a soul glides and sails.