Poetry
1 min
My Basketball
Kabir Bhatia
It waits to be played with,
Wet with raindrops,
While still having excellent grip.
The first time I saw it,
I looked away and saw a baseball mitt,
But I looked back,
And it looked at me.
There was nothing it lacked,
So I gave it a maybe.
Slowly that maybe turned into a yes,
And I thought to myself, this was the best.
Now I play with it every day,
Whether it is snowing or raining,
Even when my leg is paining.
And now I pick it up and shoot it into the basket.
SWISH!
A perfect shot every time.
When it is dark, it is the shine.
No ball can compete with you,
Because you are my basketball.
Wet with raindrops,
While still having excellent grip.
The first time I saw it,
I looked away and saw a baseball mitt,
But I looked back,
And it looked at me.
There was nothing it lacked,
So I gave it a maybe.
Slowly that maybe turned into a yes,
And I thought to myself, this was the best.
Now I play with it every day,
Whether it is snowing or raining,
Even when my leg is paining.
And now I pick it up and shoot it into the basket.
SWISH!
A perfect shot every time.
When it is dark, it is the shine.
No ball can compete with you,
Because you are my basketball.
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