This morning I wrote a poem regarding Phil Hughes. This evening I'm typing this old thing, I don't know what it is. But Phillip Hughes has died.

It's terrible. There is no silver lining and if there is, I can't see it. At a stretch you could say that it gives us an opportunity to reflect, to be grateful and to remember how finite life is. Here was a bloke simply doing what he loved, playing the sport he loved. He was going for a pull shot off a short pitch delivery, I bet he'd done that thousands of times throughout his career and I bet he loved it.

Hughes wasn't the world's best batsmen. Despite scoring back to back hundreds in his debut test against the best bowling attack in world cricket, he had been in and out of the Australian side. You're better off visiting the Sydney Morning Herald or Daily Telegraph Aus websites to get insights in to his career, but this was a man who simply loved playing cricket whether it was for his state or his adopted state or his nation.

The mark of the man are the tributes. Apparently everyone loved him and I believe that wholeheartedly, he just seemed that type of lad. My only connection to Hughes is remembering the test series Hughes had against New Zealand, where the lethal Chris Martin had Hughes' wicket like Billy Bowden's crooked finger - it was a certainty. Not only was it a certainty, but it was going to be caught in gully as well. Everything you hear about Hughes though, whether it be from the Channel 9 commentary team during a Australian series or in the past few days, Hughes was a bloody good batsmen.

I couldn't imagine being in Sean Abbott's shoes and nor do I want to. Such is the nature of the cricketing family, he hasn't been forgotten. He'll have whatever he needs. One thing I'm sure is floating around in the heads of many cricketers is: 'It could have been me'. It was a terrible accident that no one can shoulder any blame for. No one.

The closest I've ever got to Hughes was watching that NZ series on telly. Yet this has got me in a spin, it's got everyone in a spin.

The Maori language, like many languages, has terms that struggle to translate directly to English. They are terms that you just know what they mean because they're words with an aura - 'Kia Kaha' and 'Mana'. It is blatantly obvious to the cricketing world, the Mana of Phil Hughes. We may not have experienced it as frequently as others close to him, but Hughes' Mana has led us to react as such. Kia Kaha.