The Medal

The golden colour of
The medal hanging there
On the yellow wall
Of my drawing room
Has lost glitter
And become gloomy.

And lost its colour
Also the saffron ribbon
Tying up the medal.

But whenever I look at
The medal I won
Years and years ago.
I still feel that the event

Has occurred just now.

I raise my hands

Trouncing the opponent
I swipe my fist
Towards the sky.
Look, the spectators cry
With joy and zeal
They are crazy for me
And clap for me.

I get on the rostrum
The coveted medal is

Garlanded in my neck.
My breast broadens
Lips smile exuberantly.

My fingers shapes V,
I still feel the fragrance
Of the bouquet of roses

Given to me.

I kiss the medal and
Throw a flying kiss
Towards my fiancée
Among the spectators,

Cheering my triumph.

The mammoth applause
Of clapping accolade me,
It still echoes in my ears.
Oh! ... My past is

Deeming into present.
Sorry........my dears.-- AJIT PAL SINGH DAIA