The Football

A jolly sphere mottled with precise geometrical jargon
complacently reposed behind a veil of glass
A symbol of unsure freedom and innocence,imprecated to be enslaved at a child's whim
Bartered by the mercenary into servitude,it tasted its first stab of betrayal.
Lonely and sequestered on the first night inside the cupboard,the ball felt unrestrained to contemplate renegading the new milieu,but a hope for the better prevailed.
The inevitable moment had arrived-it was led to an altar of an open field
kicked in the face,purity has ingrained upon itself the imprint of a boot
More followed,it was covered in dust,dirt sweat and soot
Perhaps it was futile to fight,or it was too feeble to demur,it had resigned itself to its fate at my feet
Suddenly,filled with an urge to retaliate,it tripped me off my feet
Through the stillness that ensued,a hint of the denouement of the battle pervaded
The ball-motionless-without impunity,waited to be struck
Foot on top of the ball,as if reasserting the hegemony,I waited for the sadomasochistic referee to whistle in delight at the thought of the impending
A smack of leather on leather sent it soaring, it landed with a thud,never to rise again,betraying the very principle of a ball.
A puckered,serrated gash adorned its murky face,like a sarcastic smile,deriding oneself
Through the cut,I caught the last breath escaping its bladder
A relentless fighter it was,daring to think of battling the impasse
I salute you,football,for proselytizing me into a fighter