Wrote this poem a few days back when I was in Hyderabad. Managed to stay for a few days in my old apartment there. The last few years that I’d spent in it was quite ill and invalid, so it felt really great to be back in much better condition.
Used to spend a lot of time gazing out of windows when I was unwell, and haven’t been indulging in that activity for quite some time. It’s actually a very delightful pastime – very calming and relaxing, provided your window has a nice view 🙂 🙂 My window had a very green and beautiful view of trees, birds, butterflies and garden activity, therefore I never ever got bored. It used to be fun watching different birds turn up at different times of the day, and indulge in various antics. Whiled away some time again before I wrote this poem.
Also remembered that my grandfather used to spend a lot of time gazing out of our living-room window in Bangalore, when he stayed with us. He really enjoyed this activity and would give a running commentary of the scenes outside, to anyone willing to listen. Our house was in front of a lively but not noisy street, so the scenes outside used to be quite colorful and interesting.
He became familiar with and used to recognize all the regular passers-by, and would notice whenever one of them was missing on any particular day. There would be office-goers passing by in the mornings and evenings, children going to school, vendors coming and going at different times, and laborers returning home late evening.
He used to enjoy Sundays the most because there was a popular church close-by. Many families would pass by on Sundays in their most colorful and best clothes and he knew all of them, though he never spoke to any of them! If any family or family member was missing on any Sunday, he would comment on that. Am hardly spending any time by windows nowadays, and think I should get back to it once in a while 🙂 🙂
By the Window
I decided to make today
an ode to yesterday
and whiled away the moments
in idle sentiments
Settled by the same old window
and remembered many scenes
of birds humming in the breeze
gardeners chattering under trees
All that reality is now only memory
today’s certainty is also but a dream
the yesterdays, their trials and tribulations
how strange, sad and beautiful they seem….