The lad came back to me,
Asking for a moment to play.
I refused: “Am not of your age,
Please find out someone else.”
He went back weeping.
He is my brother, young boy.
He insisted me to play the game;
Mad as the heart of the fans,
Hard to bring the reality into it,
The game enthused many.
It is called cricket: the blood and marrow
Of this country called India.
When I heard the word religion
The game already had a God.
When I heard the word heaven
The stadium got the name: Eden.
When I dreamt archangels,
The game was lauded by masters and legends.
But, we changed everything.
Gentleman’s game got dried.
Speed and innovation changed the classic face;
Still, the game is played in a spirit.
The lad was unaware of all these,
Went on playing, with a self-commentary.
I found it very solacing.