Sunday 2 May 2010


> On chequered squares of space and time,
> Dark shadows dance their game of mime;
> To slay the Self is their cryptic aim;
> By tricks of mind, to heights they climb.
> There struts their Chief, Black’s his name,
> A proud ego is his claim to fame,
> A cosmic game he’s forced to play,
> Helped by his dark deluding dame.
> False bishops at his feet do pray,
> Marauding knights have feet of clay,
> A pride of puppet pawns at rest,
> His army’s poised in gaunt array.
> The Lord of Light is truly blest,
> The White Goddess is his Queen, no less:
> With castled Sages on each side,
> He waits to play this celestial jest.
> His warriors, stately stallions ride,
> Maintaining righteous order wide.
> In silence, pawns withdraw and meditate,
> Freed from their dream of seek and hide.
> That Self wants Ego checked to mate;
> The rascal fights to thwart his fate,
> And kill his foe himself, instead:
> We’ll watch their struggle, taut and great.
> By laws of Nature the rules are led,
> The end’s perceived, Pure Consciousness, ahead.
> He'll wage this war in awesome glory
> ‘Till Black resigns: thank God, he’s dead.
> After ages, growing grey and hoary,
> Both lie boxed, their game was gory.
> When ‘WHO’ created this sport is ready,
> A new game begins again; another story!

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