I am a football
Just look at me you all
How sorrowful!
How horrible my life is!
I, a small, weak
And poor creature
All twenty two players
Keep on kicking me
Sending me from left to right
From ground to height
Fast and slow
Slopy and low
Without any mercy
Showing no pity
Can you find any
Who is being beaten
And punished
Even if he not guilty
The net spoke
No, sister
You are becoming
Wrong interpreter
You are clever and quick
For, without a blink
You keep on running
All the players stunning
And after you
Their whole crew
Madly rush to hold you
And you as I think
An uncontrollable creature
Write their own future
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem