For days, football has been weeping.
The round-leather game has lost its best friend,
A man whose feet when in black leather boots,
Were the best operators of the round machine.
A child born with boots on his feet,
Or with a ball in his palm still wouldn’t love the game like Diego did.
A man on whose head the ball found joy,
On whose shoulders, it felt relaxed,
On whose chest it always found rest
And to whose feet it obeyed.
Armando didn’t just understand the ball,
The ball understood every part of him including his hands.
We didn’t just watch him play, we felt him.
On days he played by the rules, he made us happy,
On days he broke the rules, he made us proud.
A minute silence observed a thousand and one times
Will never be enough honour for Diego,
Neither will ten thousand beautiful flowers be enough to say Thank you
For all the beautiful memories he created
Nor will carving his statue in England and Turin
Be enough apology for the days he broke his opponents.
If football is played in heaven,
Then we’re sure of how excited the angels will be to watch him.
Rest On Legend Diego Armando Maradona.
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