For decades, it was a playground and now a pauper's graveyard.
A politician suggests to make it a playground again.
I try to collect the names of champions
But no tombs and I hear some whispers;
'What is the use of getting our names
As we cannot compete the living souls?
Let us sleep well and write down this in your notebook brother.
We do not have regrets as there is no any race further.
Mr.Reporter, if possible lets work together to ensure
That every dead soul has a right to sleep.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree that graves should be honored. But the whispers of lively souls can never be stilled. Compelling, Nimal. Always your friend, Sandra