They kicked it and it hurled into the air
To where it landed they chased it there
In their merriment the boys barefoot all
In a village field eleven boys and one ball
With mind free of troubles in their stride
They put two meters apart only one side
Of two stout sticks marked as a goal post
Where jostled and hustled were the most

Till the ground hardly any grass and rough
On the objective to score goals on that half
Part of the field while on the other half more
Or less worn out like those shirts they wore
Only after school the homeworks they'd got
To do first before they go down to play if not

Adjacent stood rubber trees rows upon rows
The rooted fans watched them play like pros
If the rain pounded about an hour you'll see
The whole body shorts and shirts completely
Unrecognizable covered with sweat and mud
No proper rules shoes no referee nothing but
Enthusiasm and a sheer joy of playing soccer
Somewhere in a village in the north of Malaya

Now where the field stood are houses apartment
Blocks and shops no laughters and no merriment
Buildings made of concrete cement hard and cold
No more roughing kicking and chasing after a ball
And no rubber trees lining up as spectators antrall
Only a feeling of emptiness a place devoid of soul