My Window is Translucent

My window is translucent
The views a view of noise
The horizon fluctuates
Depending on the stodginess
Of the porridge of pollution
Some days there are mountains
Others I have plants on my balcony
The old farmers who farm the plot
At the foot of our building
Must be offered millions
Their old farmer values will surely give
Or they will die
Then a mirror building will rise up
And eat my fickle mountains
And then I'll draw my curtains