To wrestle with emotion
Grapple a thought, with arms of stone
Freestyle or greco roman –
Takes raw courage.
More than warm milk
Or protein shakes next door.
To sit endless for a move, grip vise-like
Like a spider devouring the big insect, legs twirling and hands grasp
A scene cast in white marble, from some lost roman arena
Or mud bathed in our backyard, where the grip tightens
And don’t you know, time moves so slow
As knees hold tight, as speech flows into meaning
Perhaps hope and even destiny.
Thighs lie locked on the mat, as ancient Jurassic creatures
Wait for the other to turn
As weary arms turn opponent and victor
& the more powerful one, stronger, heavier, the favourite
Comes crashing on the ground, where he is pinned to the count
Of one-two-three, all the way to ten.
To feel the sweet pain of victory, as legs buckle
And rain falls like tears
As sweat drips down the meniscus
And the bandaged knee strap comes off,
Baring scar, all wounds healed
Once in a blue moon,
The one looking at you
Asking for a replay.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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