Lonely Window

The lonely window,
With open door;
Left, untouched, stood there like a widow,
With some iron bars and nothing more;

The wind passes through it,
Making noises, carrying dust;
The iron bar don’t resist the hit,
It degrades, weakens with the rust;

The broken doors hit themselves with nothing good,
They repent on the past;
The past-when they were fresh piece of wood,
Covered by an untainted, painting of contrast;

There is no one,
Not a single living creature;
It’s barren, dull, left undone,
It cries, without tears on its left feature;

In the past, mother used to call her son,
By wake voice through that window;
Her only smiling son,
Who ran in the streets with his shadow;

In the past, the daughter waited for her father,
With teary moments in her eyes, hand on the bars;
Rolling her palms, gazing at street end farther,
Thinking, trying, to achieve her favorite stars;

In the past, the wife stood there for her companion,
With blushed cheeks, blossom lips, hazel eyes;
Searching for her friend with white stallion,
Coming, riding, for her, with an ear ring of small size;

The past was past-it went away,
The present is surviving;
The window is puffy- night and day,
Thinking, weeping, a lot starving;

But, the future is yet to come,
For which many are worried;
And so the window –mum,
It hopes, the past will come back hurried;

The streets will again be busy,
Full with ecstasies;
Full of sweet smelling daisy,
With giggling, smiling, tender fancies;

The bars of the window will again be a colorful toy,
Like a rainbow, like a seven colored chain;
Each color having different taste of happiness and joy,
The new window would not be lonely again.