The room hangs with books, licking
The shadows from the sunlit window
Their mouths some times wide open
In wide-eyed wonder ,at white walls
Where the trees dance in their wind
And flies buzz about in nonchalance
Their wings several times magnified.

The corners sit pretty in light shadows.
Their sounds refuse to come from hush,
A splendor forgot in quietness of wall.
The drawers are an old chest, heaving 
With  pure pride of mahogany, their light
Shut in an ancient time, their shadows
Long forgot under lock and key of time.

The curtains are saviors from thought.
The people outside enter the window
As ghosts that glide on their textures.
They are some times puppet shows
At night, feet busy walking on asphalt
Their feet shuffling, their minds shut.

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