window..

I don’t open,
that window ever for anyone,
not to the wind,
nor even to the sunlight..

It is a small window,
hiding under the bushy creepers,
streaming with yellow blossoms,
and green and delicate dreams
of leaves,untouched..
no dusts covering them..

It is the window,
of a small hideout,
cool and comfortable,
with bundles of dim light sleeping,
beneathe the blankets of placidity..

It is the window of a small room,
which shelters me,
when I run away,
terrified,and confused,
from masked minds
and sweetened poisonous voices..

I still keep that window as mine alone..
like a slender thread of grassy hope,
to hold on ,
while drowning..

Don’t see it as my secret..
It was never..
It is just a weapon for self defence.
A presumed security,
for a human existence..

Love in plentiful,
and the love that is lacking,
has no connection to that window ..
It is just a small entrance,
of the last one of that type,
which leads towards me..

Only a handful of tender core of my soul,
remains invisible beyond that window..
the rest is open..
through many doors and windows..

I never,
restricted entry to the winds and dawns,

prevented the exit of noons and twilights
and I never had separated,
the nights from days,
thread by thread,
grain by grain..

But I cant open this window,
ever for anyone,
nor for the breeze,
nor for the rains..
as I need to keep,
the darkness and coolness behind it,
for summer days
and the warmth
for winter nights..
because,
to exist is also another need,
lesser one if not so larger..