Duck, Hook, Pull: The Butterfly Way of Handling Life's Bouncers

 **Disclaimer:** This piece is a work of creative expression. While it draws upon real-world cricketing metaphors and cultural icons, any resemblance to specific real-life individuals, private events, or personal incidents is purely coincidental.

Welcome back, rascals. Life has a funny way of testing our footwork. Just when you think you’ve settled into a smooth rhythm, someone decides to dig one into the pitch, aiming straight for your head. Betrayal, toxic energy, or the quiet malice of a bruised ego—we’ve all faced those sudden, aggressive "bouncers" that try to knock us off balance.But here is the secret the greats won't always tell you: you don't have to smash every ball that comes your way. Sometimes, the classiest move on the field—and in life—is an elegant, unbothered duck.In this deeply reflective piece of free-verse poetry, we look at the ultimate playbook for surviving overwhelming attacks. Blending the cool patience of M.S.D., the fearless swagger of Viv Richards, and the absolute freedom of a butterfly, this is a reminder that your worth is far too high to be caught out by a cheap delivery.So, guard your stumps, keep your eyes on the ball, and let’s look at how to play the long game until it's time to hit it out of the stadium.

Version 1. Manoj in Defence Mode

Life is not a matter of a day.
Trust broken has no quick fixes 

So, when people break your heart,

Do not grieve or pray—

Leave their space, knowing
They just don't deserve you.
You are too costly for those 

who care for you not. 

When you move out of their way,

Do it gracefully; keep NO regrets.
Leave no space for further encroachment—
Let them be

Let your smile 

Outlast their cheating lessons.

Like a butterfly, 🦋

Always free to move about,
Not holding on to anything.
Love your life, 

live your life,
Be a light to light a life,

But know who truly needs it

And who comes only to betray
For who knows 

for how long life will last? 

Many years ago, MSD says,

my cricket coach told me this:

"When Life throws bouncers at you,
Duck... Duck... Duck...
Until you arrive at the place
Where you can hook it over the ropes."

Learning from him, 

I decided to duck a bouncer,

For I know it can never get me out.
The bouncer at best is a no-ball if left alone,
Especially so when the bouncer is too tall
And goes right over your head. 

I said to the bouncer: 

"I love bouncers too,

But I generally don't attack.
Until I know where to place them 

over the ropes."
New Jel would know my favourite area,
Where I placed many bouncers—
Pulling them at will in a classy way,
Until the Richards in me was fully satisfied. 

Nick already got hit twice in the same area;

We searched for the ball 

until we found it again.
His slower bouncer was more deadly
It didn't hurt me,

Though it hit my head
But his hurt ego got some relief, 

I guess. 

Like a butterfly, 🦋

Always free to move about,
Not holding on to anything.
Love your life, 

live your life,
Be a light to light a life,

But know who truly needs it

And who comes only to betray
For who knows 

for how long life will last?

In life, some bouncers we leave

As long as the ball is new;

When the ball is older, 

nobody bothers how tall it gets.
Even the Little Master 

belittled Malcolm Marshall 

hooking it over the ropes. 

When the ball is new, 

the game is fresh—

Let the bouncer leave your head.

For bouncers can at times be too dangerous;
Phil Hughes, a great Australian

Got hit at the back of his head,
The bouncer killed him before

The experts could help.

When you are at the receiving end,

Know that every bouncer 

is a potential no-ball 

It can get you one run,

Without breaking a sweat.
And you remain not out.
Know also no bouncer is good to hurt you,
As long as your eyes are fixed on the ball. 

Among bouncers, the slower one is deadly.

The faster one can kill you

—happens rarely in cricket—
But the slower one allures you 

Deceives you and mistimes your stroke.
So duck the bouncer until the ball is new. 

Like a butterfly, 🦋

Always free to move about,
Not holding on to anything.
Love your life, 

live your life,
Be a light to light a life,

But know who truly needs it

And who comes only to betray
For who knows 

for how long life will last?

When the ball gets old, 

The wrinkles set in—

The wear and tear.
Make it slow and heavy.
The swing dies, 

The bowler's passion is on a decline.
Then, you can hit it anywhere you want,
For the stadium awaits the unveiling

Of where the ball will land. 

As Hitman does it every now and then—

Into the crowds, 

over the ropes,
At times, even out of the stadium.
You will also do it,
Because you are made of the same material. 

So when Life throws a bouncer,

These are the many options;
You just need one.
To a beginner like me, 

"Duck, Duck, Duck" is the best approach.

When the ball gets old, "Hook, Hook, Hook."
When the bowler is tired, "Pull, Pull, Pull"
Until you get the maximum runs.
For human life lasts longer

Than you and I think. 

Like a butterfly, 🦋

Always free to move about,
Not holding on to anything.
Love your life, 

live your life,
Be a light to light a life,

But know who truly needs it

And who comes only to betray
For who knows 

for how long life will last?

Version 2. The Art of the Bouncer (With Shaper's Polished Shaping)

Life is no fleeting matter of a day,

Nor can a broken trust be quickly mended.

When cold, ungrateful hearts push you away,

Grieve not, nor pray for what has ended.

You are too costly for the blind of sight;

Step from their path, let no regrets remain.

Yield not an inch of your encroaching light,

And like a butterfly above the rain,

Be free to move, untethered to the past—

For who can tell how long this light will last? 

A mentor’s voice echoes from years ago:

*“When life delivers bouncers at your head,

Duck it, and duck it, let the anger flow,

Until the ground is yours to claim instead.”*

A frantic fury, if you leave it lone,

Is but a no-ball spent in wasted air.

Let the tall shadow over you be thrown,

And smile to see the bowler’s empty glare.

Attack will wait until the field is known,

Until the perfect line and length appear. 

Two bitter strikes may graze a bruised domain,

And frantic hands will search to find the blow,

Before a slower trap is set in vain—

A calculated trick to bring you low.

It does not hurt; it only serves to heal

The fragile ego of a fading foe.

For faster storms can kill the things we feel,

But slower, tempting falsehoods break us slow.

So keep your gaze unblinking on the leather,

And duck the strike until you find your weather. 

While the new ball is hard and fiercely fast,

The game is fresh, the danger rides on high.

Stand firm, for even tragic shadows cast

A warning of the storms passing by.

But wait in silence while the leather wears,

Until the heavy wrinkles start to set.

The bowler tires under heavy cares,

The fading passion turns to deep regret. 

Then comes the hour of the patient mind,

To launch the swing and clear the crowded floor.

To leave the heavy, broken earth behind,

And send the fury spinning out the door.

Where once you ducked to let the danger pass,

Now hook and pull until the boundaries ring.

You are the victor on the trampled grass,

A butterfly upon a fearless wing.

Free to move on, untethered to the past—

For who can tell how long this light will last?

With love undying 😘 

Shaper and Manoj