Twirling Match

Early in my childhood days

When I use to get up from bed

I used to run out to play under the open sky.

Golden were those days to live

Free from worry under sky blue.

No one uses to question why I was there

Because they all knew, the play was necessary.

Slowly as I matured in life

My taste for cricket bloomed

Right under the streets of my neighborhood

Where we flipped a wooden gulli

With just one strike in the air.

Apparently, this liking developed into a fervor

As I landed up watching the world cup.

The cheers of the crowd doubles

The moment ball released from its grip

And landed on the pitch so fit

Only to see what was its fate.

Was the ball placed well to strike the bat

That flew it high up in the air

Only to make the audience grumpy

As to what will happen next.

If the ball misses the hand and rolls down the boundary

The happiness of the crowd finds no limit.

And if it settles in the hand

The joy of player goes wild dismissing another mind.

The best part of romp is that

We all chose a team of our own.

Thus teaming business is the real gem

That keeps us glued to Tv till the end.

Do or die is not just what the players game

But the viewers to hold their breath to it.

Every minute becomes auspicious

As the time nears to close.

Every ball that lands on pitch

Has a different tale to tell.

Whether it will be the ball to fame

Or just crumble to their wane.

And towards the end, we all sit expectantly

Who will win and who will lose.

This tug-of-war to victory

Is the real juice of the frolic

That keeps us hooked till the end.

And the final ball if strikes for victory

The voice of the crowd suddenly changes completely

Celebrating as the winning team lifts the victory cup.