The Open Window

I leave the window by my study ajar.
Now, the monkeys take a liking to my cookie jar.
Pigeons across the street wade in
and exotic birds flock from far.
While butterflies at peace, rest on my flowers,
the caterpillars climb the bookish towers.
A woodpecker just pecks at my feet,
a monkey scratches my crown at all hours.
I sleep like the dead after the day's errands
and at dawn am awaken by the squirrels' rants.
On my table they all spin and dance
and devour the pickle of my aunt's.
My window lies forever open,
to the Gulmohar gardens beyond.
Yet the parrots find much amazing
nibbling fervently the chilies off my hand.
Not that no one keeps their windows agape,
The rotten old spinster above and the dreamy painter in a cape.
I guess it's all about the aura of inviting,
a crowded table filled with things one would crave.
Yet, I feel I don't have much to offer,
puzzles for the monkeys, leaf juice for the hopper,
the parrots like the chilies and, the pigeons love a quiet corner.
The butterflies though, just flutter about
chasing their shadows on the walls which
change their colors by time and enrich.