I ain’t poet:- The window and I

I have a window in my room,

and every single day it seems to get narrower.

I start all my sentences with

I , me and mine, and every single

day there is a struggle between two I’s,

one with knowledge and other I with Consciousness.

I have a tongue and no ears.

And my tears are tears.

Who is this I anyway,

and why is this I shrinking every single.

The room had a window ,now it is more or less just a hole.

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