The Game of the Players

A game is played with two players

we are also players, you are also players

you are also hot shots, we are also hot shots

you read us like the scattered pages of an open book

we see you like a reflection in the mirror

you think, you have a upper hand over us

you think, you understand us all too well, by reading our scattered pages

you do not know, that you cannot become legends

By reading our lives, in the scattered pages of our books in your hands

words alone, cannot make the flowers blossom in the spring

the player plays the game on the field, with the strength of his character

and not just, by the incomplete poems of written words,

on the scattered pages of book of life

scattered pages do not tell our character,

and, reflection in the mirror, does not tell me of your soul 

you play the game, with the handy work, of your riff-raff noisy crowd

we play the game, with the flavor of the blessings, of the cheering crowd.

Misreading the pages, of the essence, of our character,

you send your riff raff wise guys to our dressing room,

to beat their drums of nonsense,

to grasp us, to unravel us, to know us, to test us, and to graze us

your riff raff comes running back to you, wagging their boneless tail,

beating their airy drum, out of synch, out of rhythm, out of rhyme and reason

telling their own our sob tales and saying they are mine 

you also listen to your riff raff sob tales, believing they are mine

this is where you stumble, tumble and fumble , as a player

this is where we crumble you, as a player

diamond comes out a diamond, here only

test of the character, on the game field, is done here only

we are also players, you are also players

you do not fathom our game,

we also reach out to our cheering crowd, thru you only 

your riff-raff, also see, the spirit of our game only 

we have the firm reins of our game, in our hands, as well

we play along with you, the same game, but in our character only

commentators, do not play the game,

they just finger the game and the players, on the game field

you send your riff-raff, marching at us

weighing them, in their greed, of your faithless pennies

they also fall in the pit of their greed, accepting your false-hearted pennies

you also play your treacherous move,

on their filth greed, by not giving them, even a penny

even if you give them your false penny,

It does not gel well with them, in their downcast lives, borne out of greed

and they are left, just sucking their thumb

and holding a lemon, which they cannot eat

you influence them, with your predictions for them, coming out, from your blemished, false heart

telling them lies, about us, from your blemished, false heart 

how will you go ahead of us, get the better of us, win over us

that, you lean so much, on the forever falling grace, of your riff raff

this is where a true light shines bright,

this is where the true character of a true player shines

 the game is of the players, and not of the amateurs and the riff raff

riff raff, amateurs talk a lot, blowing their airy trumpets

telling a million nightmares and fairy tales,

and full of stony winds in their brains

their greed, full of a thousand tricks

ready to sell their conscience, at the drop of a hat, in the hundreds

They are the wise guys with a fickle, pimpled brain 

they are the nincompoops by the dozens, when lives matter

scattered open pages, do not tell, the true essence of existence of the player

reflection in the mirror, does not, tell the true personality of the player

everyone, cannot become a player of a game

and it takes nothing to be a, noisy, riff raff, amateur

the game is played, among the players

riff raff, amateurs, are only for noisy, drumming, entertainment

they do not understand,

either, the mental makeup of the players, and, the game players play  

they only know, some rules of the game

But they cannot figure out,

the intensity, the determination, the tricks of the game, played on the field

we play the game, on our game plan

you play the game, on your game plan  

the game is of the players, and, the game is from the players

our game is also watched by the players of many other games

you also, are the link to reach out , to the players of other games

 to enjoy the fruits of the game that we play as well, for a life time

with the commentators and the riff raff, amateurs,

joining in and having fun, as well

your repentance is done and over, in time

we have also seen your game, you play, in time

we have also put behind us, your indiscretion, in time

You think, that we do not know, that you know

 but we know, that you do not know, we know

but you think, you know, that we know, you know

all in all, we know you know and you know we know

you make your guesses right on the button

but you do not know, that, if, they are the right ones or not 

until the game is played on the game field

and we let you make some of your guesses right

the game is not vast like a sky, it has it’s limits

and we all play in those limits only

and the game is played only on the game field

the time comes, on time only, for the game to be played on the field

the players play the game, the game is from the players 

You make your foul guesses about us, and send your riff raff, in our dressing room

but, you do not know , we play the game in our own style

and give our own color to the game

and not the way, you want us to play the game, in tune with your foul guesses

every riff raff, amateur, thinks he is a player

but in fact, they are only a, “Shanaa”, a good for nothing, deflated pumpkin

only, to play in the hands of the players, and to beat their drums of nonsense

a player, is also fearless, like David

is gentle, like an angel

and vast, like the deep blue sky

umpire, is also, the dynamo, of the game

in age, all players, are near about the same

in determination, they all are, in the forefront

 but some think, they are a happy dog, with two happily wagging tails

and they do their “Shanaagiri”

the one measure, that the Shanaa, forgets

We also play the game, we are also the players

we also play with the mind, we also play, the mind games

the only difference is, we only believe in ourselves

and stay within our own limits of trust and know our strengths

while, they want to meddle in the affairs of every one

Shanaa, goes only by his, Shanaagiri 

In their own time, some commentators were also, players of the game they played

Now they are only spectators, to blow their flute

The game is played on the field, the player is known from the game field

Shanaa, commentators and riff raff, amateurs, do not play the game

They only toy with the game, being played on the field

They make a nonsense, out of every thing,that goes on the field

They dance on their own tunes , that they think to be sweet

And browbeat the players of the game

They setup, secret mike, left and right, to eavesdrop on the players,

With the help of the ringing, ear drums, of their riff raff, amateurs 

They read the torn, burnt out, pages, of the players diet of thought,

Making this habit of their silly rummaged reading, as part of their game

They try to make their own rules, try to pull down the players, from their cuss words 

Shanaa, commentators and riff raff, amateurs, do not give up, being, who they are

They keep singing their own, out of sync, inflated songs, in their own mind of pretty illusions 

Shanaa, commentators and riff raff, amateurs, do not play the game

They toy with the game, played on the field

Body line is not a game plan,

it is the sad reflection of the Shanaa, in his own mirror of defeat

it is the effort in despair, to over cast the shining sun

it is not the way, to play the game, like a true player 

Shanaa, are not the players

They only, show case their false hood, of being a player

They do not play with the measure of their skills

They play, hiding behind their wile game plans and false hood of being a player

Bouncer is meant, to be hooked

Body line means, to smash the face 

only a player, understands the difference between the two

and, Shanaa, only fall flat on their faces, in time

a player, wins and losses a game from his bouncers, as well

Shanaa, only losses the game from his body line

Only a player is remembered, whether he loses or wins the game

Shanaa only blows his ego fattened trumpet, of being a player

Every player knows the tricks and moves of the game

He plays them to the best of his abilities

And that is what, makes him a legend of the game

Circumstances are never the same

And the game is not played, on just a single strategy

Many games are played on the field

But the essence and the flavor of each game is the same, Victory

The player plays the game, with, which emotion

Either with a passion for devotion to the game, or, with body line

That is what makes one a player and the other a Shanaa of the game

You can not win, we can not lose, in this game

Victory and defeat is part of every game

Life is from many moments, any single moment is not life

Game is from the players and the player is from the game only

There are many players in a game

Only those fortunate, walk on the field, who are blessed, by the hand of the divine

It is not just anyone becomes a player, and, walks on the field, with his head held high

There is something special about them, that the divine favors them

The game is from the player, and the player is from the game

We are also hotshots, you are also hotshots 

A Player is the genius of his game

And they remain enthralled and dazzled in the world of their game

Every player is an artist, a performer, a master of his game

A player is a poetry in motion on the field, for every past legend of the game

The game is of the player

The game is of the players, the player is from the game