The Basketball Players

Outside my window, below on the ground, the Basketball players. In the mornings I awake to the drumming of the ball on the concrete floor And to the yelps and shouts of children playing basketball. Lifting the curtain, through the haze of the mosquitoe net, I watch them, lithe, graceful Jumping and running like antelopes in the savannah.

Dribbling the ball, they run to and fro Across the court, turning, twisting, ducking Swiftly passing the ball, faking a throw Blocking, trying to snatch, moving like cats On a hot tin roof and then leap and lift the ball to the basket Some bounce off the board, some slip neatly through the net Only to be grabbed and loped again and again. Alert, agile, acutely aware, the eyes of the children intent on the game, playing to win.

How wonderful it is to be young, boundless energy, radiating health Happiness and pleasure in playing a game! Games, how many, of how many kinds, yet to play and to win Some to lose, some to be remembered, some to be forgotten!

Slipping the curtain back, I turn around and stand still Listening to the cries and laughter of the players And to the thud of the basketball like the thudding of my heart, Thudding, bouncing, thrown, captured and released to the air Until the final whistle blows, until the sun sets and Darkness envelopes my life.