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As repeatedly was i beckoned for a race i couldn't race.

                I want to disappear
Sprint perhaps
To day’s spent by the tracks
A field supposedly green but in this                      case a box of chocolates
Grazed with a few strokes of white days                          before an event.
Nothing else mattered in all about thirty                            seconds;
Only then could i be called a expertise in                             maths,
As i calculated the distance to the tape.
The best they said
This i believe with many a laurels as                                     proof
In the air i did dash as nothing could                                  stop me
Even the cold hand of breeze
That slapped and pinched my dark skin.
Seconds so blissful with undivided          attention to whatever lay outside the                                  tracks
Most times an impending test.

 

Some time between seventeen do i                             hear a thud
My race was done as acute pain swept                       through the left ankle
Had i lost balance
Or had the prayers of my competitors                       overshadowed me.
Defeated! As i wiped of my tears
That seemed to escape from their                              confinement
As repeatedly was i beckoned for a race                        i couldn’t race.

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