In the cool natural air condition flow.
The sound of ping pong startle an old monk's Zen heart.
The question is how long can this ship last.
To flow in the matter of a heart win or loose.
But the monk asks for,
are you getting soft like you always making the win like
that.
And for another, 
are you like the mountain to hope to block all the threats.
Then the two reside on war and mistaken, back and forth.
Like when the intension high rythm dismiss by the missing
serve.
The sigh left long like the last breath.
For the sweat of this ping pong ball's crack.
Until the time is up for emptiness, and the stomach.
The old monk reminds the last sup of Jesus.
Yet its only the lunch,
then not if you Zen.