Lanes of memories
A man was waiting for his turn on a bench.
But his face was looking some tense.
Physically he was sitting there but his mind was traveling in the narrow lanes of sweet and bitter memories.
Some times he smiles and the next moment his lips murmurs.
What was he thinking?
He may be thanking about unfold relation and problems.
He answers him self and some times he questions him self.
In this course the glory of his face changes time to time.
It is a normal practice among people now days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem