Sprinters are on a racing track
Sun, breeze, thousand eyes get lost
Senses perceive target line
The pouncing pose yields tornado speed.
Fast past faster choke the air
It's a long long racing track
Seconds past, the world is in rhythms.
Mouthful of morsels, purse-full of dimes
with a feather in winner's cap
are the gains from races of life,
from hot field ball games, greasy professions.
Rest of runners also shine
as a moon or morning star or distant glows,
all are happy in own ways.
Wonderful ideas. All runners happy. Such a great wisdom. If only we decide to be grateful, peace of mind and happiness is just around the corner. Good poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All are happy in their own ways. This is life. We all race the race of life.and stick up out strength. But some fail. Still the joy is in trying and never let go. Great message. Mohabeer Beeharry