Shekhar Achary
I enter into a room,
a world of exhibition,
exhibition of cruel world.
Everywhere there are sounds
with no voice,
but grief of wounds all around.

My eyes stopped on a frame.
There is a man,
running from power game,
creation of crazy mind.

There is a man,
crossing a border line,
as other he crossed before,
and wished to cross more,
for a land
free from hidden mine.

There is a man,
chased by misty dust,
caused by a bomb
behind him, that which blast.

There is a man,
followed by jet,
always over his head.
And that’s me,
I saw my agony,
melting from his eyes.
similarly, his sad song
is sinking my heart.

There, I am on canvas.
Here, I am outside the canvas.
And we are here
far from own land
at new city, among unknown strangers.
Fate fraud with us
and I lost me
also my land, love and job.
Then after many days
under a rag tent
once I meet me
luckily, with both,
soul with rag body.
And I am here outside the canvas.