The window-pane

The kitchen’s windowpane sits tight ,basking in the sun’s morning glow . Our women love the sun but not when making tea.

There are trees in pane waving in the wind. Their birds chirp at dawn, their speckled throats heaving up and down, as we calmly eat breakfast.

It is not winter yet and its fog is yet to blind its eyes.Later when the sun turns angry, he will beat it down on its smoothness of cheeks ,gate-crashing kitchen invading our women’s privacy as they make our tea and the gas-flame will lose its blue face in the glare. In the end the pane has to embrace its dark night.