The curtain dances when there’s no breeze,
Performing dramas with elegant ease.
Sunlight pierces through its seams,
Interrupting unfinished dreams.
It hides the world, then peeks outside,
A gossip dressed in fabric pride.
At night it frames the passing glow,
Of strangers only it may know.
Wind arrives, it swells with flair,
Like actors needing all the air.
I pull it closed for privacy,
It leaves small gaps deliberately.
Morning paints it gold and thin,
Revealing dust it gathered in.
Yet empty rooms feel strangely bare,
Without the curtain standing there.
Soft divider, stage and shield,
Teaching homes how moods are built.
Quiet witness by the wall,
Watching every rise and fall.
