If the poet is exiled
The stability of the Nature is disrupted
Yellow leaves of the discoloured Earth
Is burned down to ashes by the scorching Sun
With great flames.
Smoke engulf green Nature- like rusty nails of the fence
Banished persons turned ill-tempered
The words turn tuneless,
Trembling bosom is bundled up with great dark tiredness
Nature turned breathless.
If the poet is sent into exile,
In protest, combined procession of words
Assemble in the street
Unrestrained words turn rowdy,
Tear away all the existing rules and procedures
If the poet have to go on exile
He has to walk a long way as per Nature’s rule
As a tired traveler, he rests under a banyan tree,
Looks at the beauteous Nature with half closed eyes.
Exile of a poet never exists-
Instantaneously, the Nature turns the exile with delight.