Perspectives
©May 15th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Doors are good,
But there are so few of them
Windows, on the other hand,
Draw me like a magnet.
Windows keep the wind out
Wind down our day,
When we shut them.
Windows tantalize,
Holding out a view
A promise of something,
Which, if we chose, we could
Climb out, fly out,
And claim.
Looking out, we see dogs run,
Children play, cars rush on,
Stray bags on aircurrents.
We see flowers unfold petals,
And birds unfurl wings,
And our vision takes flight.
Or, perhaps, we don’t see.
Perhaps, we see blankness.
Where a brick wall faces our window.
We see a fire escape,
A bored pigeon,
Pedestrian and dreary.
Or, maybe, schoolboys
Smoking pot, or drunks in
Stumbling stupor.
Perhaps, our windows trap
Pockets of madness,
Of sadness, of despair.
Perhaps our windows are
Simply painted on, faking
A word that doesn’t exist.
But doors, now.
Ah, doors are good.
Hinging on promises, symbols,
Giving us sweet metaphors,
Making portals, pathways
Into other worlds, they flash
Glimpses of secrets which swirl
Into other more mysterious ones,
Perhaps to another, darker,
Gnarlier, older universe.
Or, perhaps they give
Us an out, a means to escape,
Even if for a little.
Every doorway has its
Secret Mezuzah, its blessings
Keeping out danger,
Locking in peace.
But what if the danger
Were within?
Would the mezuzah be
A Möbius loop?
If I had my way,
I’d have my door close
To my window, and
Make one work as well
As the other.
It’s all a matter
Of perceptions, perspectives
Of a frame, after all.
That which is framed
Is good, named, tamed.
And then, when we step out,
The world, dense and hungry,
Advances, intent, angry,
Rears its massive head, and
Swallows us whole.