The hot sultry day
Does little to stop their play
These barefooted boys
Who have never played with any real toys
Are happy to use the cricket ground
When the more fortunate are not around
To bully them and monopolise the pitch
Making it look like the privilege of the rich
They use broken pieces of bamboo
As makeshift wickets
Their bats are carved out of plywood
The ball however looks authentic
Probably a cast away of a cricket maverick
Maybe some day one of these little prodigies
Will proudly represent his country
Either for a test match or a twenty/twenty
Indeed it is their most cherished dream
To be selected for any state level or national team
Lovely images you have potrayed here in this wonderful written Poem 10 ++ Tracy
I can remeber as a child making games from nothing...and in summer being barefoot was such a treat...this poetry brings it all back...excellent write...Fi 10+++
Isnt it amazing what can be done with the imagination, it opens up a new world with all that smiles
For some it's the only chance they have to escape the ghettos and poverty. Excellent poem Sandra. Best wishes, Andrew
Very touching. You compassion is apparent in every line. Applause for your barefoot boys! Warm regards, Sandra
Reminding me of as a lad in our culture of course on the sandlot playing baseball with the hand-me down gloves and balls which looked like a ragdoll...bats of course..a pecan limb would suffice, , , however on occasion and original hand-me down bat thnks for painting your picture so vividly
It brought me memories of my school days. Those days never come back again. Good poem Sandra
You bring to green light the rural adolescence and its dreams vividly in this write...good work, Sandra...10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
that brought fond old memories of school days...those spectatorless matches used to be great fun