Reminiscence

Reminiscence,
Drug of old age.
Shackled to
Ghosts of the past,

The Closed Window

All I ever wanted was a desk and a chair
By the window of a humble mountaintop lair
Eyes feasting on panoramic vistas open to distant horizon
A book in my hand opening the windows to the world beyond
Gentle wind caressing my hair, imaginations running wild
Aromas from a cup of tea wafting through the air
Turning the pages of the book illuminated by the morning sun
I reflect on what this life has become
Battered by thousand storms of unfulfilled expectations
Harsh realities pushing simple dream beyond recognition
Smiling face masking the ache of a heart silently weeping alone
Storm damaged window of a lonely heart shuttered long ago
Words on pages of this closed book are now meaningless
Fading light of the setting sun does not come through
The closed window anymore