Beside a dusky room, they stood,
the lamp and the window, misunderstood.
In silence long, they watched the night,
One shone within, the other framed light.

The lamp spoke first, a steady hum,
“I light the dark when all is numb.
In shadowed corners, I give my glow,
But never the world beyond, I know.”

The window sighed, its panes ice-cold,
“I see the vastness, skies unfold.
A thousand stars, the moon’s soft grace,
But I cannot touch the warmth of this place.”

“You wish for depth,” the lamp did say,
“To know the warmth, to feel the day.
Yet I, confined within these walls,
Long to break beyond these halls.”

The window replied, with misted breath,
“Is it freedom you seek or endless depth?
For I am trapped, yet I see it all,
While you’re contained but hold life in thrall.”

They paused, two silences intertwined,
Each longing for what they couldn’t find.
The lamp blinked softly, a flicker faint,
“Perhaps, we’re both just a shadow’s saint.”

“For I,” said the window, “though I see the skies,
Cannot hold the stars or touch sunrise.
And you, though bright, within the room,
Can only chase away the gloom.”

“Then perhaps,” whispered the lamp’s faint glow,
“We each hold half of what we’ll never know.
For I am warmth, but lack the sight,
And you are vision, but cold as night.”

Together they stayed, in quiet refrain,
Each bound by glass, each lit by flame.
And in the stillness, they understood,
The beauty of being both lost and good.

#ObjectWhispers
© Sachan