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My window

My window has two frames –

One holds glass; the other, net.

The glass is my circumference of safety

It keeps my cat in.


Sometimes, my cat crouches near the glass

She yaps, trying to call upon the gentle sparrow

Flying in short bursts,

Building

A nest right below my window,

Where the cornice interrupts

The vertical confines.


(There is only so far an eye can see,

“Perspective limits vision”,

My cat says, looking at me.)


The other frame – the net – is more porous.

It lets in some breeze,

Often littered with the aroma of burning garbage

Or dust from the house that is yet to be built.


(“How can a net let things pass?”

My cat asks,

“Isn’t a net meant to trap?”)


I see this house – unfinished – from my window

Cement, bricks and wood lie upon each other

In anticipation of precise geometry that holds within it

The promise of fortification.


A crow flies under the impermanent roof

Its cawing, a sign to others

That shelter can be found

In the incomplete.


- Prabhasvaramitra


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Science journalist, communicator and writer

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