Outside My Window

Outside my window I see the absence of activity
I see a wall that I built to become poetic – to call it dilapidated.
I hear the water droplets gravitating to the ground:
gradual, meditative, the cautionary observers of time.
My hands reach out for the feather resting on the window sill;
what could it mean but shedding of an aerial being?
The ground still emits the remaining smell of petrichor
like the weight of memories, you try getting rid of, but in vain.
I look outside my window hoping to get a taste of autonomy,
I think now I have a stomach full of confinement.

Kathmandu

Did this city need an emergency to breathe freely and thrive?
Outside my building, I see trees moving, more carefree than ever.
I observe clear skies from my balcony recalling distant dreams.
I feel sun rays piercing my skin with the fervor of a lover’s touch.
Hadn’t we all forgotten that even breathing is such a luxury?

Did this city need an emergency to come to terms with reality?
How much of what we own matters in this period of ordeal?
How many of those we know have extended their hands to us?
Do we know what is keeping us alive in this prolonged calamity?
Hadn’t we all been taking the availability of life for granted?

Did this city need an emergency to learn interdependence?
We were all so carefree in how we impacted other lives.
We thought when it comes to others, ‘it doesn’t matter.’
Now, we know we all draw from the same repository of life.
Haven’t we only been thinking about ourselves, our needs?

This city is now throbbing even under the looming danger.
This city is now recovering from its mystifying insanity.
This city is now spacing itself from the unwanted chaos.
The city is now painting itself in hues, colors, and shades.
This city is now alive—it is breathing in the fullness of time.