Black & Proud · happy · words

Dream weavers

In a country where hopes never make it
Dream dangle in tattered nets
Rusty rims whose baskets long tore away
Loop holes to futures where mansions and high thread count sheets exist are mounted in courts
Hobbies to pass time between friends
Curious on lookers fingers latched on fences like trapped birds, old dreams passing the batons
Quick foot work and fast dribbles crisscross the faded marked lines
The weathered strings of a basket dangle after the brush of leather as I slid through
Some hands which graze the rims of these hoops in bleak winters and sizzling summers go to caress hoops that never rusted in their lifetimes
Like dream weavers, the dangling torn strings enchant each touch of the ball as it slides through as though marking the hands that dunk, slide lay ups or shoot tear drops
In a place where bottom of the barrel is a constant
Dreams hang metres from the ground
Jumpers reach for their chances with faces scrunched and crowd breaths bated
This is where the game of hoops breeds a commitment
Laying tracks for chances to leave rags and stagnation behind and close the yawning gap between entitled and dreamers.


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