The King of Games -Poem
 

Amidst the mountains
magnificent and grand,
exists a surreal fairyland,
with magical peaks
bewitchingly high,
as if they almost kiss the sky,
a lake so crystal clear and pure,
or is it a mirror?
one can't be sure,
one hears the sounds
of robust neighs,
during the festivity days,
the bustling crowds,
the cluttering hooves,
an air of thrill
around the groove,
the coloured flags,
the merry men,
the sound of trumpets!
the sports begin!
the sturdy crowd,
that claps and hoots,
while sportsman strive,
and horses boot,
as strong arms spin
the stick ,to hit,
most anxiously spectators sit,
is it a goal or will it miss?
will it bring failure or bliss?
but as the golden rule prevails,
some rise victorious, others fail,
still this does not prevent the treat,
the day is marked with drums and beat,
the cheery faces celebrate,
as clapping hands exhilarate
the mood, the fun, the atmosphere,
the magic of the whole affair,
however, the ticking clock concludes,
lulling to sleep, the livelihood,
as caravans prepare to leave,
with a tiny, little pinch of grief,
but with the promise ,they'll restore
once again the old folklore,
the old tradition they'll revive,
the coming year will bring to life
again, the valley's great essence,
there will be joy and zest, immense,
the stage will look, once more, the same,
for the game of kings,
the king of games.
                                                             Zeenat Khan,
                                                             Islamabad.

                                                             15 July 10.