The footballer I stood behind,
Whose physical form I would use,
The glare from this talent left blind,
Those directing this unwitting muse.
The footballer I stood behind,
The subject of everyone's views,
Jealousies and comments unkind,
To a soul that could easily bruise.
The footballer I stood behind,
Whom I'd watched from spectators shoes,
His freedom replaced by a grind,
His destiny, not his to refuse.
The footballer I stood behind,
Obscuring all life's other clues,
To the person he might really find,
Only now, is he getting to choose.
The footballer I'm now leaving behind,
Whose persona at times I would abuse,
Is embracing a clarity of mind,
And identity, he won't ever lose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem