The glaringly sharp cleats
are as light as feather of a sparrow
rush like a hyena,
hungry for scoring.

Like the shoes of Mercury,
they split the void with tempestuous speed
and make the loud field silent by scoring.

Like the shoes of Messi,
they pierce the defense line eerily
and fire a ball to the right top corner with keen accuracy.

My cleats are furious cannons,
firing knuckle balls,
swings the net violently,
and bringing glorious victory to my team.

I pull my two ugly feet into those fabulous cleats.
The studs tear the ground
as if they are dragon’s claws.

The moral of my ode is this:
with my cleats
I’m a governor of the game
and a predator on the field.