The Windows
In these darkened rooms, where I spend
oppresive days, I pace to and fro
to find the windows.
-- When a window
opens, it will be a consolation.
--
But the windows cannot be found, or I cannot
find them.
And maybe it is best that I do not find them.
Maybe the light will be a new tyranny.
Who knows what new things it will reveal.
Poem by
Constantine P Cavafy
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