Whistle blew
Sense of finality descended swiftly
Players left the field
Spectators stood up
Seemed they were in trance
Kept cheering on
As if they were reluctant to leave
Slowly did they cross
The threshold of no return
To their mundane lives
Return from slice of escape
A memory that will linger on
The field prepares herself
For a meaningless forlorn existence
Bearing footmarks like memory
Torn packets, empty paper cups, empty bottles
Litter the stand
Telling the story of bygone festivity
Silence shrouds them in a thick blanket
Hiding the silent tears of agony
They keep each other\'s company
In silence they wait for the new day
To make new memories
We are the players, the spectators
The field and the stand
We the moms and dads
Host the games our children play
We watch them grow and fly away
And wait for them to return someday