I watch out my window,
On the east corner of my room,
Where Venus smiles
Down upon me.

Outside, the wind whips its tail,
Around the trees,
Gently brushing them,
Back and forth.

The grass swivels and cheers,
And the toys that lay on the lawn,
Just simply fly away.

The sky seems angry,
Appearing oppressive and muggy.
The air is cold,
And I stick out my hand,
Feeling the cold rain drops,
Splashing on to my palm.

My mama yells for me,
But her voice just passes through, unheard.
I placed my cheek delicately,
On the window surface,
And this bitter feeling,
Rushed down my breasts,
Leading to my stomach,
And back up to my head.

My brother violently pulled me,
Away from my window.
I screamed to go back,
It was my window,
My utopia.

My brother furiously yelled at me,
To stop the screaming,
Because a storm was coming.
A storm was coming.