A window,

It helps give us,

A glimpse of the outside,

Doesn’t it?

 

A window,

It could show us,

The playground outside,

Children playing,

Wives chatting,

Mothers and their kids,

Sons and their fathers,

Basking in the sun.

 

A window,

It could show us,

The smog outside,

People fighting,

Wives weeping,

Mothers without their kids,

Sons lying dead in their father’s arms,

Looked upon by a crimson sky.

 

A window,

It could show us,

A shower of fireworks,

Colours and lights

Of celebrations and festivals,

New clothes,

New cars,

New lives.

 

A window,

It could show us,

The explosion outside,

Sounds and lights,

Of anguish and carnage,

Torn clothes,

Burnt men,

Lost lives.

 

A window,

It could show you the sky,

The trees,

The families,

The homes,

The joy,

The love,

The life.

 

The same window,

Could show a crimson sky,

A cut down tree,

A few broken families,

A burned down home,

A crying kid,

A dying love,

Death.

 

Which window do you have?

Windows of dearth,

Or that of mirth?

Windows of calamity,

Or of opportunity?

Windows of a dark past,

Or that of a bright future?

Some are lucky; some others, not so much.

 

Indeed, a window,

It helps give us perspective,

A glimpse of the outside,

It does, doesn’t it?

– S. Narayanswamy