Hashtag Bleeding Blue

By Namrata Dev in Poetry
| 1 min read | 478 വായിക്കുന്നു | ഇഷ്ടപ്പെടുന്നു: 0| Report this story

The number on the back

of my grey sweatshirt

bleeds blue,

everytime somebody whispers

'Game on',

my right palm immediately

flies to my left bosom

caressing the little pang

that comes with the memory

of spicy pakoda and hot chai,

the whole street of fanatics

in one living room,

while mom serves jelebis

to everyone, swatting

dad's hands for a heart attack

one bite away,

the hushed silence when

the clock strikes 8,

and a loud roar

thundering in the living room

at 8.05, when

an array of blue men

walk onto the green field

at one arm's distance,

while the tri-coloured

flag is wavin' high,

to the tune of Tagore's anthem,

chills and goosebumps

with every India, India chants,

piercing whistles and happy tears

a high no alcohol can even try... !

And now in this cold country

where 'game on' means Football

and the 8pm IST

is the time I haul my ass,

here in Pennsylvania,

to a money vending job

that doesn't care about

Cricket, or Dhoni

or the post victory celebrations

bigger than the Holi,

or the 2002 MRF bat,

bubble wrapped in the basemet

of my posh suburb house,

that waits patiently

to strike that exploding century,

maybe in a stadium,

maybe in coin de rue,

but with every 'Game On'

the 7 on my sweats

and my desi heart unrest, Bleeds Blue!

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