New windows are transparent,
Free from tarnish and smudge.
I was such.
Clear-eyed gazing out,
Reflective peering in.
Two-sided.
Hand and finger prints have been wiped free,
But around the edges there are still ridges,
Evidence of being opened and closed,
Yet unbroken in a sturdy frame.
But time is no friend to glass.
Winds assail it, birds bounce off at break-neck speed,
Dust accumulates, it becomes opaque.
Missiles assault its permanence,
Shattering the pane into foreboding shards,
Not unlike a broken shell.
Some desperate glazes never get replaced,
They invite stone-throwers.
Then the building becomes derelict, unlivable, untenable.
One stone can break a window,
Or fell a giant.
A very perceptive write. Beautifully crafted and well expressed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have made to look the poem with so good perspective. Indeed windows are of world. Ye see manything through this. Yes i sgree to your view point