Tale of mystery: A poem

I see a window, as I stand by the road
Who live there? I would never know
It is never open but always closed
I looked up again then walked back home

People can weave crazy tales  
Ever believing stories, they would say
Why weave tales, when no gains
I wish to ask them again and again

Back at home, I dwell upon thoughts
About closed windows and doors
I ponder about mysteries unsolved
And little things never solved

The next morning, I went again
I can say with not much gain
The closed window, so it lay
I walked back home once again

I still walk back through the road
To see if the window remains closed
Who live here? I still don’t know
Never ending tales it really grows

– Jan @jahnavigouri

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