The wooden top
Painted red
Nestled in hand
Rearing to go.
On winding the rope in tight coil
Around the body
The top began to wobble
Eager for the jump.
Throw the rope forward
And spin out the top
Keep the rope in hand a moment
Before you let go.
Think of the throw
And ponder on the fall
Deviate from the planned game
And listen to the voice of enticement
Murmuring in your ears.
Desires spin the thread
Over and over
String uncoils from the wound up body
The top moves obsessively forward
Pulled by unknown impulses
Revolving faster and faster
Crossing the border of no return.
Whirling round and round
Twirling at the end of the string
The top totters to a stop
Rolling to the side
Spent at last
Devoid of the rope.
