And decades after decades,

They drank their tears,

Inhaled the chaotic defeat of 1992.

Though they won the CT in 1998,

After that, there was endless space

Where they bitterly faced the twisty race;

Clutching success with their naked eyes,

But suddenly losing in the unbelievable 1999 tide.

They could not hide;

They bore and roared,

But they could not touch the harbor.

Decades after decades,

They sipped their blood,

And in a timeless flood,

They drowned,

While nearing the crown.

Their tears were perils,

Defeated in close games.

They had famous names:

Donald, Pollock, Smith, and Jonty,

ABD, Gibbs, Kirsten, and Ntini—

All were great,

But could not create

The taste of success,

Glory, or excess;

Couldn’t hold the trophy,

But inhaled sizzling cries.

They witnessed the see-saw;

The semi in 2015 was an awe.

The final of 2024 predicts

Their regime;

Still, they live in fearful dreams.

Decades after decades,

They saw Kohli’s peak,

Smith’s rule,

Kane’s mace,

And Cummins’ cool—

Creeping like wounded warriors.

Suddenly, they cherish the roar:

A new morning

Sets a warning:

Every day is a new day;

138 is not decay;

Time and again, they sway.

After the horrific spell of Pat,

They no longer laughed at their lot;

Reenergized their energy,

Rabada and Ngidi showed no mercy.

They uprooted the most powerful castle,

And there was a hustle.

Markram dreams to conquer;

He couldn’t sleep and silently roared.

Bavuma wrestled

The world’s best tussle.

And they won the WTC;

Many were embarrassed and on their knees.

Vaughan taunted them; they swiftly responded—

From nowhere to everywhere they commanded.

Silently, they embraced harshness,

Smilingly, they tasted bitterness.

On the first day, they ripped through the Aussies:

Rabada, the doubted, fished the big fish;

Markram, like a Markhor, attacked the yellow army;

Bavuma battled like an injured soldier—calmly.

Thrashing the rule of the Big Three at Lord’s,

Telling the world they don’t believe in scoreboards;

Relishing the value of the Test that always gives a second chance,

Punching, uplifting their spirit to entangle the audience in trance;

Doubting the Aussies’ invincible strength,

And creating history, falsifying the clichéd length.

Winning the hearts of countless cricket fans,

Temba—the hope—rushed in and echoed for Africa in calamity,

Telling the cricket pandits all is not lost;

That taunting, belittling, and mocking are their faults.

Sharing with the world the intensity of Waka Waka,

And valuing Shakira—this time for Africa.

Muhammad Adnan Gujjar