My transparent bag
Bursting with multicolour balls
Some cultured with compassion
Some inscribed with love
Some wrapped in dollars
Some coated with lust
As I set upon to play
On the plain turf
I empty one by one
For the players to pick
And spin to unseen wicket
Whosoever knockouts
Gets the ball for free
As a token
A mob throngs
All balls taken
And stumped my soul
Here I am before you
With an empty bag
No compassion, no love
No dollars, no lust
My wicket soul shattered
I return to pavilion
To play second inning
When I will not forget
To carry the mighty
Bat of wisdom to shield
My clean soul wicket
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