I SEE

Through the glass panes of my window, I see,

In the summer fieriness, labourers,

With heat pricking their figures.

 

Through the glass panes, I see,

The barren lands,

Covered with red volcanic sands.

 

Through the glasses, I see,

Trees, with no leaves,

Posing to be chopped off from the mosses.

 

I see,

Small hills in the rain,

Clouds overlooking the plains,

Through the window, I see the world in its grand.