Monthly Archives: June 2015

Haiti wins hockey world championship … seriously


One of the most unlikely national teams in sporting history has just won the championship trophy in one of the most unlikely sports to be dominated by a Caribbean nation.

Haiti’s national street hockey team (yes, that’s a thing) defeated the Cayman Islands 4:2 this morning to win the finals of the B-pool of the Street Hockey World Championship in Zug, Switzerland. The road to the cup also included victories over Armenia and France — a win that was particularly sweet for the Haitian squad.

Haiti’s surprise victory is unlikely for several reasons — not the least of which is the fact that Haitians don’t normally play hockey. To compensate for the island’s general deficiency in puck skills, the team was comprised of Haitian-Canadians…

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Through the Track of Unknowness

I can hear someone crying.
Pretty loud surely,
But, its origin is beyond my sight.
Nor its owner is within my vigil.

Deep and doleful, it is.
Wrapped in a patch of gloom;
It sounds so.
And the tears,
Must be brimmed with utmost depth.

It is a cry, relentless and painful.
Indeed is running across
A path of persistence.
Cannot resist even a thousand tons of boulders.

Engulfed me with its touchy depth.
A cry of enchanting melody, it is.
Its depth, not be found among the natives;
In fact, is non-existent.

Every beat by beat in my heart,
It grows deeper;
And lingering, not to mention.
It now remains neither touchy nor depth full
But, sinister.

‘Please, do stop!’
No answer for required respond.

It caught me in its sadness.
So firm a grip,
I grew helpless teased by emotion.
My patience running down,
Gazing upon for the owner.
My eyes reached the end of their tether.

But, never did the stranger ever made his appearance.
Before my thirsty vigil.

Traumatized and annoyed, I am.
Desperate and vindictive.
Blowing out little sighs of failure,
For the unknown owner.

A spring of black water
Spread upon my withered heart.
It got heavy with anxiety for unknownness.
Very sore, not to mention.

However, I succeeded.
I found its origin.

The cry has its no native owner.
But, creeping through the cracks
In my melancholy heart.

I heard it reach my ears,
When I am wretched with depression.

So, the owner remains no one
But, I and my heart,
Bleak and barren.

Solitary Star