I came along
And clapped for you.
The old paint
Reveals history,
Likewise,
You have an old song
To go on.
The hills are mute,
A bee buzzes
In traffic,
And follows no way
To the garden.
We act,
We tread,
We lean
Over each other.
I rise like
The first winter sun,
You are the change
Of seasons.
Still, I find you,
Around the corner.
.
© Sushant Thapa
Biratnagar-13, Nepal
Picture Nick Victor
.