Between The Lines

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I watched through that window

A beautiful view, clouds and rainbows…

Building tops, terraces & balconies so still,

Adorned the view by the sill…

 

I watched everyday through that window

Flying shades of blue and yellow…

Between the lines that spread those flutters…

Flew a kite, in wonder, a boy who stutters…

 

His tiny socks and uniform shorts…

Dirty shirts washed to whites…

All lay dry just so bright…

Like gleaming wights in the night

 

Kites gave way to those paper planes…

Spiraling down the alleyways…

A shout or two from the neighbor’s mom…

A dash for the door sealed it shut.

 

The teensy pants fluttered a little…

As though smiling for that little brat, so little…

The curtains hung, covering his tears…

Sitting in the corners near…

 

The cloth lines became a match affair…

Corks flying over ‘n there…

Dripping bedsheets were the nets in play…

He made a friend, from school far away…

 

Dirty sneakers, whites and socks hung…

Bats and red balls, knee pads ‘n all…

Broken windows, the neighborhood rung…

Searching and begging, a ball far flung…

Later that year a curious tie…

Lay on that line, hanging just fine…

Oh that loud voice, father had arrived…

Towels hung, dripping were they…Tears? I know not…

 

Coloreds flew to the alleyway from next day…

Apparently, mother forgot to pin them the right way…

Crouched with a book, the day after…

I saw through that window…

Him writing his sorrows, and the ropes he borrowed…

 

Storms never followed, of grief or sorrow…

The sun blazed the black blazers…

Silky whites, stiffs and bow ties…

A red smear, making all the fuss…

 

Formals hung on those 2 or 3 lines…

White n blue stripes, plains and checks…

A dress from nowhere, danced to the breeze in flair…

On the terrace just there…

 

I saw through that window everyday…

Clothes shift, a dissent to the whispering winds…

More dresses, new gowns and robes…

The same old formals, trousers and socks…

 

Four months after, she hung the first tinies…

Single piece cloth, a dress? I guess not but yes…

Frills and laces, tiny but gracious…

Sparkling lil joy, I watched through that window..

 

Well, I couldn’t watch longer…

Those skies and those stories…

I was now laid in bed, free from my rollies…

“T’was easier” they said, to maintain such oldies….

 

I closed my eyes to those fluttering lines…

Colours & sizes, varied types…

That told to me such stories…

Of beautiful lives…

 

-jake


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