I am tired, always tired, before and after the sleep.
days and nights, I spend lying on the bed,
under the constant protesting sound of the fan, blowing hot air.
The Sun is over my head always,
I can not shake it away.
He sucks the winds to boil them,
to throw them back on me.
The shadows have disappeared,
the world is thin without volume.
In the morning and in the evening,
I scan the dusty sky,
search leaves on the branches of the trees,
search a torn piece of cloud in the sky,
to believe in hope,
to build courage to live.
Today, near the horizon,
I saw an arm extended,
to feel the first drop of rain on hand.

One day we encountered a stone wall.
We could not jump over it - we could not circumvent it - we could not comprehend it - we could not evoke an emotion in it -We could not write on it - we could not break it.
We could not gather public opinion against it, as is required by the' System'.
The wall is without a shadow.
Some people come after hiding the features on their faces - they throw stones at the wall during the day, - they go inside the wall at night & walk away, garlanded in the darkness of the night.
The fear whispers that a collective masked face of a group of aggressors, commands this 'Wall', from inside the wall - from above the wall - from below the wall.
Even if, one day, the collective masked face will preside, over the last submission to aggression, we will go on hovering in circle over the wall, to implant our moving shadow on the 'Wall', to register a protest - to stamp freedom to keep alive, hope in despair, before flying into the Sun.

Ved Nayar

‘While recouping, every morning, when the darkness of the night is about to leave and the light of the day is about to arrive, I wake up, go out of the house and sit near the mango grove corner of the garden which surrounds the house. The mango trees are laden with green unripe mangoes, each bursting with energy. Every morning I collect the mangoes fallen to the ground which could not encounter the strong wind during the night. I begin to recognise each mango and see its ripening process. There is a  mango tree whose twisting tree trunk is like human torso in tri-bhang mudra. In the background of the mango grove there is a large field of eucalyptus trees. Each tree is about hundred feet high. These trees swing along with the birds sitting on them, when the wind  pass through them.  One day I saw a small bird’s first flight from his nest to the top of the eucalyptus tree along with the promptings of his parents. Outside the entrance gate of the house flows a canal and parallel to it runs the road. In the morning, first to walk on this road are children, in groups and singly, going to school. Some are in a hurry to