00 Writing On The Window Pane
Sitting by the window
Just a while ago
I bask in the beauty
Of the glorious snowfall show.
Every falling snowflake
Had been assigned a unique make.
Even I was unique, more so different
No one heard my voice, my world was distant.
So taking a deep breath
On the window pane I exhaled.
The clarity of the glass disappeared
A thin sheet of fog did appear.
With my index finger
I wrote on the fog.
My outlet of feelings were these
Mere writings on the window glass.
The silent voice of my writing
Lingered for a while,
Then it faded
Faded became my smile.
I wanted to reach out
To get my words heard
I wanted to voice my opinion
But I was always shunned.
For some, writing on the window pane
Is just a fun game.
But for me it was a way
To ease my pain.
Because my voice was surpressed time and again
But I could always go back to write on the window pane
For the window pane seemed dear
And the only one who would care to hear.
(! 9 April,2006)