In the courtyard where the sun beats down,
Warriors face, muscles taut and keen,
Dust rises like a fleeting crown.
Hands lock, a forceful, living machine,
Every twist a story, every hold a test,
Bodies weave through movement swift and lean.
Grunts echo, hearts hammer in each chest,
The ground shakes under strength’s embrace,
Skill and sweat put courage to the quest.
Oil-slicked skin shines, faces set in grace,
Legs sweep, arms grapple, the battle flows,
Time slows, measured by each strained pace.
Till one falls, the victor’s triumph shows,
Yet honor binds them, ancient as the sand,
And in each match, the old tradition grows.