The game of Chess

Jackals come to my pyre but don’t weep;

Bake your cakes and enjoy sound sleep;

I am not a vote bank that sound and blow;

I am an innocent soul whose pyre glow.

I am a ripened life in gloomy sunlight,

I am a gentle and calm soul bright,

I am a gentle bird in muddled game,

I am a bright star that shines but no fame.


I am a pyre with blown up many a dream,

Come and warm yourself but don’t grieve,

When you read these lines at dawn hush,

I will be in succumb tally made in rush.

Defend your wickets against cruel bowlers,

It is not the fire crackers, but dream howlers.


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Posted in Freedoms.