Poetry in the Windows.....

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

(Philip Larkin - High Windows)

*Looking from the windows,out,still remember the poetry recited by my dad

*the light seems to fade coming inside

*the bars and its patterns

*nostalgic memories running out

*a world of emotions out ....

*some pink hibiscus and windows make images most memorable in me

*they creek when they are closed

*and creek when they are open

*they are very old,some decades old...

*but they are still prettier than everything...

my windows...