Member Rara Avis
Mumbai, India : now in Belgium
So many poets,
so many people,
Some did a ping-pong duet,
Others mused a trifle.
I watched from afar,
Sometimes got myself dragged into it,
If I had to store the ping in a car,
I would have had to struggle with it.
Mind does what mind thinks,
Often of troubles, kisses, and tales of heart,
For once clear of the bothers and winks,
We even talk about ping-pong and art.
Whoever thought the game was for two or four,
This game is for even more,
Each one here has gained a score,
The crux of the matter is the core as I said before.
When I look at the count so far,
After having seen this topic thus far,
I am score number sixty-six,
To become a beast, all I need is another six.
Love, hugs, kisses and crushes,
Relations, caring, friedly gestures,
Oh dear! How the vagrant mind rushes,
Making ever so frequent overtures.
A passing meadow, plush with green grass,
What a beautiful sight in the blooming of spring,
I rush out to the fields, a gentle caress,
The bumble bees collect themselves and sing.
A summer song, it was so pleasant,
I wandered out and stopped bothering,
I came back and saw work as a tyrant,
Till I decided that I would have a go at ping.
In any moment of decision,
The best thing you can do is the right thing,
The next-best thing is the wrong thing,
And the worst thing you can do is nothing.
- Theodore Roosevelt