Image by Sudarshan Poojary from Pixabay
He kicked the ball, altering its course,
Each time, it carved an unpredictable path.
He never planned—just paused to wonder,
And in the simple act of kicking,
He found joy in the uncertainty.
I marvelled at the magic in the ordinary,
And in its simplicity, I saw the extraordinary.
The moment, the breath, the lingering gaze—
No pressure, just the love of the game.
Isn't life more about living than proving?
Isn't joy brighter than grand pursuits?
I watched laughter, unburdened and free—
Innocent, yet so ordinary.
Fleeting, yet deeply felt.
Isn't joy the truest measure of a life well-lived?
Must we always stand atop the highest hill?
Why chase extraordinary dreams
When one can master the art of the simple?
Life does not demand we conquer it—
Only that we cherish it.
Why reach for what lies beyond
When we can hold onto what remains?
And so, in my open palms,
My quiet wish still lingers.
. . .
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