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by Anshu ShekhawatPerception
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I walked down the street

On the turn I found a man

With a huge bag

Wearing a soldier uniform


I asked him

Where is he going

He called me a slave

And went away


I was moaning, when

Someone called me with my name


I got scared

As his voice was insane

I found myself in rugs with the tattered clothes in my hand

As I threw them away

I found my hands blood stained


I apologized all

For an unknown mistake

They found me guilty and

Threw me out of the city for their sake


I asked myself again

How can they do so with their own soul?

And found only this answer

That, it was their perception

Which proved me wrong again.

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