Caged

Inside the game of cages hangs a prize
To uplift your heart and mind.
The prize murders the body with violent help,
This will be no prize but a calamity.
If prizes swoon on the player of sport
He or she weans and swears to object
For they are disasters, accidents of the very kind.
A game encases splendid rumours of winning
Like that found in discoveries and contests-
The sick will never conform to cages,
But a prize is enough reward to be called a calamity.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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