Sunday Poem by Sarannaya Bose

Window Without A View

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my insides.
On days like these, I love the sun on my face, on my hair, on my feet.
A hundred and twenty days of cribbing about the sun, and it finally departs on the twenty-first.
No signs of azure anywhere,
No streaks of yellow painting the monochromatic town,
No flowers on the dark, damp, moss green brick wall of my neighbor’s garage,
Nothing so romantic about rainy days,
Just filth and running water from an uncovered drainpipe below a window without a view.
And just like my old habits of sleeping in late till my mouth felt dry, hunger creeping inside me like the rootless parasitic moss on the broken brick wall, or frantically reading the last pages of a tragic novel to not get my heart broken,
There are some things which I’ll never write about,
I choose to close my eyes cutting off this ordinary godless existence,
chasing illusive landscapes of blue skies and high tides, green blades of grass and salty breeze touching my lover’s face.
And after all this while, I still long for the sun,
The bright yellow sun burning my face, nose and eyes, flinging me into catharsis without scorching me alive!

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