Window Pane, Circa 2011

7 July 2011 at 02:21

a series from the collection “Poetry sans the Mind”



I rest my elbows over the brim
Shadows scatter effortlessly
Over vacant footpaths and the sky
is dim
Crows crackle,
the breeze in sways, a riffraff
of foliage
urges it’s way
into an empty lane
A pedestrian says hello to a morning
As he exchanges eyes
with the street he’s crossing


I rest my elbows over the brim
The window is almost open
Just about

A drizzle screens my eyes
with a tired grayscale; my vision rests
Beyond a clogged skyline of naked trees

Elsewhere a nation runs errands
Schools re-open and a future
ushers through the present; ends at a void

People are growing old
Young ones are staying new

I rest my elbows over the brim
A flycatcher trills in vibrato
And he echoes an echo
His voice is indigo, like my shirt

My coffee whispers steam.


I withdraw from the window and look
Towards the window from here
A little further behind

My feet are partially immersed
In it’s fluorescent reach
beyond the boundary of light

I grasp my cup and leave it behind
with the paraphernalia of what has always been
A tolerant table

I go towards the window
This time all by myself. A wind scans my face
Creases my eyes
And escapes through my hair

I rest my elbows over the brim
Hinge my fingers into themselves
The drizzle ceases. A corroded poster
Skims over the park
and is halted by grass. Like

an old memory returning from after-life.


I pan my head either ways
Ends up at the same place
It always remains in

A youth departs from a store
Turns left, hesitates, turns right
Returns into it’s interiors

There is a silver oak which is
flaming with negligence
over the footpath’s raised border

which happens to be an everyday issue
for the squirrel which scampers
with a fruit she’s clasped

The youth departs from the store
And smiles peacefully at the squirrel
The oak is so alone

I pan my head the other way
And I’m all by myself
Only me and the window pane


I’m leaning over a window pane
Just another one
Amongst a million open
A million closed
Another million which are sealed
And some of which are locked
Some ignored

I’m leaning over a window pane
The sky is turning opaque
The breeze feels my withered portrait

There are lovers passing through
the dim calmness of the street
And warblers tripping
over solemn leaves and momentary heat

There are so many things to see
There is so much to rain upon
There is too much beauty to run out of. I’m high
on observation
And I’ve become a note drowned in song
Intoxicated and gone

I’m leaning over a window pane
The grass is changing shades
My hands are moist and pale

These grilled windows in the next building
Are like a safe jail
The afternoon’s getting stale. Twilight
will soon consume whatever little
luminosity remains
within this space. A soft blue
the cityscape. And it’s concrete drapes.

I am
trying to remember names. My friends
want a little money, enough fame
To be alive and game. I’m a little estranged
In a calm and different state
The wind’s messing with my deranged hair
My smile is bruised and my age is still the same
Life’s after me
But it’s life who I’m trying to tame

I’m resting against
a window pane.




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