The window creaked open
Giving way to a forest, gray;
Luminous shone the sun
While a being sought refuge of a grey shade.
It’s either the view
from your cottage faraway.
Or what you’d find
From your abode in a high-rise.
Woodland that’s old,
Yet young at heart.
Or a concrete jungle,
That’s arid and dark.
A blissful, sun-drenched dawn
Of early summer.
Or the desolate, end of days,
Under the spell of an undying ball of fire.
A grasshopper rests, camouflaged,
Under a mushroom amidst the emerald green.
Or a lone scavenger devouring the remains
Under a frayed umbrella’s silhouette.
Your vision’s now torn between
The green and the bleak.
What you desire,
Is what, in future, you’ll see.