1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 They built a medieval
French castle out of the area
and a carnival became silent
when the ball was placed
upon the grass.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Roberto Carlos set
a horizon in his leg,
figured the route of the west,
tasked for the
urges of sudden torsion,
grew fangs and
hunger in his bullet,
conjured the sun
plunging down after midday,
produce no smirk,
no grease, no foretaste,
gave steps back,
stood and waited.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 He heard the whistle
from the daybreak bird,
ran and shot a ball
–with his sabre left foot–
into attested life.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 A ball convoking
one Saturn ring,
curving its pith,
hissing in winds,
parting quotients
and entering back
to break all stringency,
all game set logic,
all probability.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 A ball twisting
the world and stadium
–like a gyring planet–
before finishing up
with the galloping
of a thousand horses
in the disturbed net.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 When the ball lost all life
and fell inside deceased
upon the grass,
the team of the rooster
had then lost too,
too many feathers.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Plucked
they sang to no dawn.



Roberto Carlos 1997 free kick goal against France

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/roberto-carlos-curved-goal/