— Haris Adhikari

Is the horizon an illusion?
Or the eyes faulty?

That arresting
height, that expansion that
cauldron shape,
that age-long
eluding circle still continues
to go with me—
wherever I go!

Even today it’s heavy upon me
as it always is.

Like my shadow,
like my dreams
like an endless
jungle of snares
or victims trapped
and dangling…
… chaotic states
or the world I’m in and from—
bound by
after boarders, ruled by
cloud colors, smogs—fumes
in the face of
azure sky, strokes
upon strokes of life
and death, humanity
raped, humiliation upon
humiliation, blood
and smoke spiraling, thunder
and noise
into nad*(nada)—here and yonder
dismal categories
of horizons
are what keep on
betraying me—once I—
whenever I step on to
the yet
unfurled thresholds
brought with great sacrifices
and tender hopes.

Even today, it’s heavy upon me
as it always is. 

A bird’s view—a free bird’s view—
is broader, perhaps.

*Nad / Nada is the cosmic sound of OM

(First appeared in Prachya Review)

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