There were two men looking at me from the canvas,
the souls in the canvas belonged to no other than one man,
the name of the man was Isaac Rosenberg.
I know nothing of him until then,
I know no birthday of his,
I know no interests of his,
I know no war experiences of his,
I know nothing until the very moment he looked at me.
His eyes locked me up from everything around me,
as if he was speaking to me,
trying to tell me something – something I have to know, something the world has to know.
Yet he couldn’t speak,
he is a ghost in anywhere but the canvas,
so the gaze is his weapon for attention.
I want to ask him what he wants me to know,
tell me something! I screamed – in my mind.
Everyone walked by in the museum like ghost,
as if we were invisible,
Isaac and I looked at each other,
the enigma in our minds work furiously.
(p.s. apologies for the grammar…)