Windows That Flew Away

Windows That Flew Away

Priya Dileep

My room

in the single-storeyed house,

I spent all my younger days

sat glued to the kitchen,

mom could hear my thoughts

all too well.

It had three windows

with horizontal rails,

black and white,

toward the backyard of many trees,

while my brother’s

opened out to the front-gate

and the wide paved road.

It was in my dingy room

I got the first eager licks of love

from the little hairy one

who drank milk with

two tiny paws in his bowl.

The room was the same

even after he was gone

and mom spied into my diary

and went ballistic

over the boy with fine hands

I had dreamt of.

When the monsoon hit,

white paint peeled off

and rained on

her fervent hopes,

the room

was heavy

with her disappointment.

“Who would want to read literature?”

creaked the iron hatches.

I heated and melted on its single bed

her solid pain

at my average science grades

and the cloth-hanger marks

on my guilty skin.

She does not remember

all that now

and it would hurt her

to know I still do.

I never lived up to her high watermark

anyway.

And it’s not as if

I have won anything otherwise

to prove

she wasn’t right.

In the same room

reeking of many rotting dreams

he kissed my virgin-lips.

But back then I was young enough

to dream of serenades from the dark

and of windows that had wings

and flew away.

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1 Response to “Windows That Flew Away”


  1. 1 Mini സെപ്റ്റംബര്‍ 14, 2010 -ല്‍ 7:30 am

    Thoroughly enjoyed reading your poem. Lucid, artful and profoud! Congratulations!


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