POETRY | MOTIVATION | HOPE
The Fogged-Up Window
Prose Poem
I stand near the fogged-up window of my room. Room is humid, but the window is not that much foggy, I can clean it easily to have a clear view of the outside world, seems like it is winter. Winter has not yet set in, but the evenings are quite icy. Icy, not exactly like eating ice or ice being poured on me, it is like a *minute second of shivering. Shivering like when something is scrambling at my feet or just a wisp of icy wind breezing through my feet. Feet feel helpless, but since it is for a *minute second, I recover. Recover to again look at the window. Window that lets me reflect on my past. Past that is full of feats and failures. Failures leading to feats. Feats on which I revel. Revel with gratitude. Gratitude that makes me humble. Humble and kind. Kind and thoughtful. Thoughtful and mindful. Mindful and mindfull. Mindfull of thoughts. Thoughts that are a multitude. Multitude and speckled. Speckled like the vast colourful landscapes, speckled like all the leaves, speckled like golden dust, speckled like eternal hope. Hope that is always invisible, but ever present. Present like the window, but with the transient fog. Fog that is to be cleaned to have a clear view!
*minute/(mʌɪˈnjuːt): extremely small
