The War

By Sabareesh. N

A fight between the team of eleven,

The world spread is seven.

One who throws,

One who defends,

A battle to break

The sticks of three.

It is a stand of gold,

Where they fight to take

By a fast hit

And a mysterious spin.

At the end,

Two stood with a wooden sword

To stop the hit

And protect their gold.

If they fail, another comes,

And comes again.

If all ten fail,

To challenge the opposite to protect.

The sound spreads on the ground

By the ball which flies

Over the sky

Or breaks the gold.

The pitch saw many

Wars, swords, and warriors,

But remembers some,

Like a day of birth in the whole year.

But the war never stops,

And the warrior never dies.

By Sabareesh. N