PIH (17/09/1987 / )

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)

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 5

Comments (5)

Very nice.. tranquil and contemplative. Almost surreal. Poem kept my attention waiting to discover what was written... left me wanting more of your poetry. Zen
When 'A' says, 'I will come to your house.' 'B' says 'I will write it on water.' - to mean that 'A' will never come. Similarly, here in this poem, writing on the window pane on the wet surface never stays long. So, one should write on a stone, which will remain for thousands of years. Preeti has nicely used her experience in the poem to describe the scene of snow falling on the window and outside.
this one is your best...love..nalini
heart touching is all i can say. i liked it
Praise for your charming windowpane poem.Thank you for sharing. Kind regards, Sandra Fowler