Ebony window, two big flaps holding
the glasses that became tinted from the dust and grime of several years. Steel handles,
half rusted, half still grayish silver. When gazed intensively one could also
notice a wire mesh on the inner frame. The square damaged gaps in the mesh
beaming with the soot of the nearby township. Though a window yet it provided no
access to the inside view of the room. Even if one endeavored to look inside
hard, one could only catch the sight of greenish brownish octa-legged round
headed spiders playing around in their field of cob webs.
The
deserted once upon a library all embraced by wild yellow white flowers with
blue purple butterflies, yet the passers-by could never ignore the window. There
was something mystical about its smell. Its chipped paint and broken plastered
edges seemed to have safely hidden innumerable untold, unheard stories in their
bosom. A story if narrated would bring an insurmountable storm that may cause
many a garden in the paradise to flutter.
But
the window always looked serene. A picture of happiness and pleasant soothing
thoughts as if conversing with all that passed by her. As if had made up her
mind to spread peace and tranquility. As if providing rest to all in her shade
before they moved ahead in their long arduous journey. And whosoever looked at
her said that they saw their reflection in her eye-like glasses. Some exchanged
words, others their silence. But the decrepit window imbibed all and understood
some. The strong winds often forced opening her. But she stood there. Determined,
strong, smiling and composed. The Ebony window…
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