the real balls are the physiques
which are filled full with desires
ever ready to show their invincibilities
they can turn anyway as desired
bounce, turn, twist, shove, slide, glide,
sommersault, or run with the legs
up in the air
the real field are the million things
the balls can get the mind to conjure,
a plain of fascinations, imaginations
fueled by the roars that lift the souls and
hearts - a a million ecstasies sweeping through
the nerves after the success of a goal
in life, we are always on the run
on the field of goals
everywhere people are on the run
chasing after a dream
and in the process get a field
of everything of life -
sweet, sour, bitter, spicy soups
we down either with pleasure
or with a pinch of salt
in life, we are always on the fun
on a green green field
slip, fal, slide and rise
to take on life challenges
thrashed from all sides
every now and then
when the stars cross path
and do not shine bright
cry in the silence of night
when things did not meet well
crashed at the ego
patted on the back
on the illuminated stage
held shoulder high
kissed in the limelight
in life we are always on the run
either to life
or away from it
either to a goal
or away from it
fifa fifa fifa fifa fifa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem