Ah This Game Of Golf Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

The game of golf nigh like this life,
Played all life, still perfect can't be,
The game of golf like player's wife,
Now on pedestal, now on tee,
With handicaps, roughs, bogies rife,
And played as if on edge of knife!

Easy to start, hard to finish,
And harder ever to master,
Pursued like an unfulfilled wish,
And just one stroke from disaster;
As in life, handicaps to cap,
Clap for birdies, eagles each lap.

What a rage this game every age,
Many a high, as many lows,
A game ever on players grows,
Ageless a sport still in image—
Yet to me a bit too high brow,
Pricey clubs, carts, caddies in tow.

And should ye think you the ball drive,
Beware, the game drives, O ye naïve,
This game of greens, good to relax,
Greener though goes an envied player,
And greatest of a leveller,
Pro or novice likes it like sex.
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Reflections | 01.10.04 |