There's a sullen word
Written on my windowpane
Though my eyes can't see
At a glance far
From the distance
Of viewing.
Maybe scribbles of street children
Creeping the panels
Kept the glass sheets
Full with designs
Of hand markings
Able to confuse my soul
With my thoughts.
Is it really
The four-letter-word
That has denied me
Of life?
My eyes do not lie though.
True.
The sights are keen.
But the feeling?
No.
I could only remember
Anagrams of the word,
The consonants
And its vowels.