Glopowrimo 21 Window

Glopowrimo 21 Window

I'm far away
In a land
I don't understand.

I look out
Through the looking glass
Of my tinted Windows
During the day
I am an invisible presence
Watching all who pass by
A dark presence
Behind darkened glass.

I see boys on bicycles turning tricks
Hands off bars, or an upraised wheel.

I see my husky neighbor trundling to
Work, head bent forward
Matador meeting oncoming bull.
A full week's worth.

I turn away from the madman's gaze
He can't see me
But you never know
They see things we can't see
Third eye open
They scream gibberish
At our world of make-believe.

I turn my head coquettishly to
survey my straggly mane,
As the raucous flower girl hawks
Jasmines, marigolds and
Carnations in a strident demand
For income.

I shrug at the bland glass
I don't have the kind of hair
Her flowers can adorn.

The window mirrors my
Wry assessment
Accurately.

Suddenly I'm no longer
Looking outwards.

The window closes in
To survey me.

It's become a seeing eye
That defies my disguises
Spies  worlds within.

I make a feeble moue
It's a pitiful silent retort.
Laughter creases fine age lines
Guardians of twin windows
To my soul.

Look at me.
Please.
But don't see too much.

Now I shall  draw the curtains.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018