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By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran

The coveted land, 64 squares in the fray,

Some painted white, all morbidly black.

The players who control are always grey,

With the common pawns taking the flak.

The drama queens rule this motley roost,

Making promises with no intention to keep.

What can the common pawn do at the most,

Memories too short, five-year term to reap.

Riots, rapes, murders, and corruption galore,

Knights, bishops, rooks dancing to a tune.

Despondency creeps, it has happened before,

Only symbols change, the disease, immune.

Towards destruction they bravely advance,

Following orders while the kings retreat.

The despotic band is on, pawns must dance,

Though their children have nothing to eat.

Oddly though, it is the pawns that vote,

And it’s not that the pawns are mad,

They know in electoral triumph and defeat,

Politicians come only in bad and less bad.

By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran

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