Diwakar Sapkota
The rest spots,
Speak their tales of woe,
The rest spots,
Where many people
Of different destinies met,
The rest spots,
Where stories
Of thousands were shared,
The rest spots,
Where memories
Of many were cherished,
The rest spots,
Where pondering minds
Of many were heard.
Alas, this social gathering point,
Now is all silent and dull,
With all grasses
As its intruder.
The rustling green leaves
Have turned yellow,
The pretty stone
Changed, rough and crumbled.
It now hopes
For sound in the foot trail,
And waits
For the passengers
To pass by,
And wishes
For its life
To be enlivened
Once again.
