The Theater Of The Absurd-Cricket Match Poem by Thinker Shah

We light our candles for the fallen,
Count coffins like we count our runs,
Yet when the cricket circus arrives,
We welcome those with smoking guns.

They send their parcels of deep sorrow,
Bullets, bombs, and burning flame
But come match day at the wicket,
We cheer together, sans any shame.

'O, sport transcends all boundaries! '
The hollow chorus brazenly cries,
While orphans-widows wail in distress
With helpless hollow, blood-dried eyes.

We thunder, boycott, pound our fists,
Until the first ball leaves the seam
Then grins emerge for flashbulb moments,
Hypocrisy wrapped in a sporting dream.

Boundaries scored, the boundaries bleed,
This theater craves its absurd stage.
Our valleys and borders weep in silence
While cricket simply turns the page.


So raise your glass to willow's wonder,
Enjoy the game's glitz, gold and grime
But know this truth beneath the pageantry:
The nincompoop nation lives on borrowed time.