Shekhar Acharya
There must be something,
Anywhere, at any place
To return to,
May be a home
Each weekend,
After a whole week of work
After thousand unsuccessful flights.
From hospital
After frequent win over death.
To escape
Fear, hate, war…
and from the human.
Where there are
some memories,
and mild warmth
There must be something,
Maybe a home
to return to.
But
who leaves that yard…
Maybe he is in love…
or death is in love with him.
And he leaves the old home…
