(Poem)
 |
| Respect to both teams for the Greatest Cricket World Cup Final ever played... |
as some fickle twists of irony rattled billion hearts.
A fine game of cricket in the very home of the gentleman's game,
between victory and defeat, a struggle of an unrelenting aim.
No fine line could separate the victors and the vanquished,
no same mind could anticipate the thrill without an anguish.
Great men speak of balancing triumph and disaster,
but in terms of action, no one's the wiser.
Sheer luck takes a lion's share - in the battle of nerves,
The game's cruel - a mirror of what life serves!
When dusk fell, only one team won the cup...
But I saw two sets of champions, down yet unbowed, at glory's cusp!
 |
| But I see two sets of champions.. |
