The restless feathers ruffled on a cone

when the game began in an open court.

Passions would collide to vie for the throne,

as the shuttle whirled and flew, back and forth.

The crowd oohed to the rhythm of the squeaks.

Their heads yo-yoed to track the plumy bird.

Louder than the action the echoes speak.

The pace so furious that sighting is blurred.

The shuttle shuttles like an emotion –

soars and dips to our whimsical fancies.

Sometimes it thuds on the net it can’t shun,

and the wings wither while its powers cease.

The game may end, and players play their part.

But the drama is instilled in each one’s heart.


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About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are -,, and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

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