His Love
A ball bouncing across the deserted court,
An ivory silhouette guiding it
Surging spiritedly across the painted lines.
Eluding imaginary giants and invisible obstacles
That rise up before him
Waiting, with hands of lightning, and fluid strides
To bring him to his fall
To steal his precious possession
And to end his quest to reach the goal.
A ball swishing almost silently through the netting
And falling straight into outstretched moonlit palms.
The very same ivory hands with which one flawless flick
Sends it soaring in soundlessly.
Though his quest is done, his journey ended,
Perfection never fails to elude him,
Undaunted, he repeats his journey again.
Dreams that flit across his mind
They are his inspirations.
The perspiration trickling down his trembling figure
A symbol of his endless determination.
With vicious grace and liquid strength
He strikes, and the hoop in response to his satisfaction
Reverberates with an intense triumph.
Still, he makes his way back to the starting point,
To begin his quest all over again
And pursue his never-ending dream of perfection.
And yet he never tires,
Never bowing to exhaustion's pull,
Forever running the same road again and again,
Chasing after his dreams and aspirations,
For that is his love.