The Gamblers

Here are the gamblers.
Table.
Hands.
They broke their fingers shadows,
The corns of squeaking
The tangled cases of the play,
The ones who spread their benas of patience
all over wooden boards,
The one
Who weavetheir karma's patterns from now on.
The ones
Who just fun and raptures still keep living.
It's time fore us tj shudder in our dreams,
It's time to strive
To where the rustle's swelling,
And not to lose with yawns
To weave yourself inside,
Unweaving at the same time.