One season is supposed to go, another ought to come;
Here I am, stuck in the same weather, for way too long;
Peeping through one small window once a day;
Had read about three seasons in books: sun, rain and snow;
Nothing changes in here, only I continue to grow.
Thirteen winters, just me and my shadow living;
Peeping through one small window once a day;
Seeing the regular sight of cold and uncaring strangers;
And man and woman looking at each other, seemingly in love;
For years love was something I used to crave.
Till one wise birdie I met once pattered to me:
'Don’t complain ever about anyone about your solitude;
You are not alone, each one of us live and die alone;
Others care more for them and merely pretend to care for you;'
Suddenly I envisaged all the kisses I had seen the couples blew.
One season is supposed to go, another ought to come;
Thirteen long winters, me and my shadow, in one little hut;
Few girls giggling at me through one small window;
I see man and woman in passion like two peas in a pod;
Growing to love solitude more, learning that love’s just a façade.