Seen through a window

If you look through my window you can see the old grey walls of the prison.
Every time I look through the iron bars of my window, I think about all the
days and nights I have been locked up here. I look at the prisoners walking
around the courtyard, in total silence, lost in thought. Their eyes are empty,
as if they were in another place, far away from here. Maybe they are
trying to escape from this depressing reality, imagining they are not in this
old dark prison.
Through this window, I usually see the beautiful red dusk, and later the
full moon shining in the sky. The breeze drifting into the room between the
rusty iron bars smells of freedom ... the freedom I will never have any more.