My Three-Point Shot

I dribbled.
Thrice.
I lifted the ball,
Aimed my shot,
Placed a small pressure,
And threw the ball up.

There it went,
Round the ring.
Ooops!
It almost slipped!
But right down that basket it went.

I waited
For the crowd to cheer,
For them to applause,
To shout my name
And give some praise.
But there was none.

I looked around,
And saw no one,
Not any trace
Of a living soul,
To share with me
My victory.

I picked up the ball,
Dribbled twice,
Then held it tight
With both hands.
I bowed my head and knelt down
Thinking, wondering where have they gone

MY PLAYGROUND

Empty seesaws
Vaccant streets
Swings with rusted handles
Are all I see

Green grass turned into nothing
But a patch of dirt
Fallen limbs of trees
Just traces of faded memories

Then
New faces come
New footprints building trails
Ready to bring it new life