Broken Windows and Faulty air-conditioners.

“brown concrete building near lamppost” by Marius Spita on Unsplash

Seven levels up,
Resting within the ugliest of buildings,
Was my humble abode of misery.

When it wasn’t raining,
The clogged drain made sure,
To keep the floor from feeling useless.

Chanting at night,
Was my elderly neighbour,
Convinced her husband was calling out,
From the heavens above.

Sometimes I’d chant along,
Letting her know,
She wasn’t alone when people called her crazy.

I was too lazy,
Too concerned,
With how the air-conditioner had failed me,

The lady chanted,
Often loudly,
Sharing her wisdom.

Broken windows are a blessing,
She’d say.

Reminding me of how comfort could be blinding,
Not too be misunderstood as misery.

The seventh floor suddenly didn’t appear to be so gloomy,
Upon the departure of my dear chanting lady,

Mighty neighbourly of her,
Leaving me her lonely air-conditioner,
As a reminder of how we’d kept each other company.

I failed to learn the piano, so I decided I’d play the keyboard instead. //All aboard the Crazytrain.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store