Window

A creaky old window. Endured seasons. Winds knocking, rains sweeping. Fluttered in their presence. A thick layer of dust, call it experience. Full of it, yet no hand to dust it. Once the brightest blue I’d ever seen, mellowed down, like an evening sky taking over the morning. Lost the colour with years, and collected grains and cracks flickering like a light, in storms.

Sealed shut in winters, wide open in summers, drenched in rains, loving the dusk in fall, blossoming like the tress in spring. Once a crowd of hands, that felt its every existence, vanished. Kept it wanting for more, just when it felt like home, it was abandoned. That’s what humans do, don’t they? Exploring other’s vulnerabilities, touching their weaknesses, caressing their want of necessity, and gone. Lost somewhere, making them beg for that one moment they had kept in the deepest corner of their mind, a touch they called their home.

With a kiss of sunlight, the crack smiled a little. The broken pieces glistened to the beams of light dancing on it, pushing the shadow inside, etching the edges sharp.

It kept the secrets a secret. It made smiles to laughs. It made sadness to tears. It made crazy a madness. It saw what the world couldn’t. It saw what being human felt like. Hidden away from the world, what he found pleasure in. The window saw what even the human didn’t realise he felt.

Now only the wind whistles by it, and stranger hands brush by. More pieces had fallen apart by now, sunlight sweeping in more. Colder winters, drier falls, fading colours faster by the passing days.

Bolted shut, it missed its creaks.

All it felt, was a colour, and an emotion.

Blue.

~Rohit Kane.