On a rocky mass and hard game, I am moving,
chances are fading, defeat is my world of gaining,
I get hurt; post love is a war, high score of pains,
smiling is failing, eyes are drying, more innings ahead,
I cannot play; my hard-earned runs are useless now,
total love episode destined against destination,
I cannot be a captain; rather I become a looser general.
Inside from the passive crippled edge of love field,
acute pain hitting at me, as if sensations are not sterile,
within the limit, I hold the pressure to be quite,
round after round I am entering in gray jurisdiction,
where people are silent upon me, I become jaundiced
in my discourse of love patterns, thence I moving
with a disgraced mood that is now permanent dialect.
I am emotionally nailed, yet trying to get movement
in my cool pronounced wits, as I have to go more years ahead, I have to be with my dependents, they are me and my mind, surgically I cannot divide them out in two ways.