Dwelling in a tower on my own,
Locked away like a precious stone.
A room with one window is where I stay,
Created of my mind and the milky way.
Of the outside world, I still have view,
And every so often attempt to breakthrough.
You see, there's no door in this room I abode,
T'is the one window that's my access road.
But the window grows foggier with each passing day,
The view of the outside becomes more disarrayed.
Yet pity me not, for I'm content here,
It is into my books that I disappear.
Bookcases galore line every wall,
Brimming with novels of all memories I recall.
Spend many an hour delicately flipping each page,
So pity me not - I'm in no rusted cage.
Loved ones don't mourn; I think of you each day,
I still love you - just can't reach out the same.
© Zahra Batool 2014