Similar to any other sport— it had rules too,
the null was called the love— probably just to woo,
you’re just to serve the shuttlecock diagonally,
and could wonder you’re a player already,
a net in between— and in one ‘every bat,
thank god my contender’s gut was intact;
thence though I stood idly staring at the morning moon,
—literally nothing stopped him from winning on alone,
he shielded me from any nuke that headed in my way;
like were on the borders or the bay,
he was the only warrior that I had to obey, and yet in haste;
rummaging for the cue— a sudden bloody taste,
a little distraction and I hit myself; the tugging costed my lips,
Oh such a deadly game with weaponized hands;
below the 6 Am light shimmered black dots or sorts
—before my sight and with pain of all sorts,
as they say ‘borrowed garments never fit well’;
gentle but yet wasn’t my play to try,
mine was to write a laud and thus an ode to the game,
‘a mindful sport’ as they claim!
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Known stranger❤
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Known stranger 