A beautiful poem by my very good friend Sagar Rijal

Shiven did not think about me
that much when I left.
He told me that he did not
even think about me at all.
He did not drop a tear.
Then he saw the cricket bat
lying on the corner.
Our bat, that we had cured,
we knew its sweet spots.
I have never hit a six but many fours.
Shiven was a finesse batsman.
We knew that bat.
We may never play
together again. 

 

 

 

credits: Sagar Rijal