Friday, 11 November 2011


It was the perfect ball
I knew it from the moment it left my hand
As it arced towards the batsman’s crease
Spinning, whirring – ever closer to its destiny
Neither his eyes, nor his bat, could reply
So it seemed
Before his stumps shattered
The bails billowing in the still warm evening air
Our hands reached skywards in exultation
The umpire’s finger rose in confirmation
I thought, when we are all dead
Heaven will feel like this
And it will have one hell of a good cricket team

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