The battle is about to begin.
I am the Knight, he is the Gladiator—
and this is a battle of Truth.

Steel rang upon steel,
and the air was thick with the scent of iron and sweat.
Two warriors met beneath the gaze of eternity—
one, a mountain of muscle,
skin bronzed by a thousand suns,
eyes burning with the fire of the arena.
The other, a shadow of polished steel,
clad in the silence of the forge,
her form hidden beneath the will of the gods.

The gladiator struck first—
blades flashing like lightning,
each blow a hymn of war.
The knight staggered beneath the weight,
but the steel did not break,
the throat did not bleed,
the heart did not yield.

Again, the gladiator’s sword bit,
but the bite found no flesh—
only the cold, unyielding kiss of armor.
The crowd of unseen spirits roared in the heavens,
for the gods had wrapped the knight in their own breastplate,
as it is written: no arrow shall pierce her,
no sword shall drink of her blood.

Breathless, the giant faltered—
skin bare, throat bared to the wind,
heart beating unguarded beneath mortal ribs.
The knight saw the opening
and drove the steel deep into the center of that beating drum.
The earth drank the gladiator’s strength,
and silence fell like a veil.

The knight stood,
not by strength alone,
but by the shield of the unseen—
the armor of the gods,
which guards the throat,
guards the heart,
and delivers victory to the one the gods have chosen.

...

Some  eighteen years  ago
A  kid was  born  in Chennai
Seven years rolled  past
Time to learn  games
Papa  Rajni opted for  Chess
The kid became  a  chess bee
And  by his meteoric  rise
Became  a  whizkid,
Breezily following the
Legacy of the  legendary Vishy
Winning  tournaments at will
Always  going for the ****
Became  IM and later, GM
This  gem!
The chess lion  set his sight
On  bigger ****
Played  big  tournaments , slayed  opponents
The lion roared,  his rating  soared
Through  FIDE  circuit


The lion jumped into the  candidates’ arena
Played   uncompromising  chess,
Gukesh-the Gladiator!
And  won the right  to  
Challenge  Ding, the  Chinese  lion!
The lions  arrived  to the  lion-land of  Singapura
To match their  wits  in fourteen board  games
They  ducked, punched,  waited, pounced
All over the chess board,
Like  heavyweight champs,
Trading blows  and  drawing more,
The  match   neared  its  ******
In the  eleventh  game,
Caissa  smiled at  Gukesh
With  this win,
he was  soaring  towards  summit
Only  to be pulled  back   by
Some daring play  by  Ding,
With a  win, Ding was on song,
His  regaining  the  grit
In his  smile  was  writ.
With the thirteenth  game
Ending  in  a  draw
Increased the  tension of  chessbuffs  
Of  the universe,
Especially  the Gukesh-guys
Who were  rooted   for the
Indian victory
Speculations  rose over the fate
Of the fourteenth
Guesses and predictions made
On the possible  tiebreak games
With advantage for Ding.
No said, Gukesh
Played  the endgame,
Ended the game
Dethroned  Ding
And became  the King!!

You stand victorious, the crowd cheers your name.

The sound, like a wave upon the shore.

You walk, the broken lying around you like fallen branches.

Flashes of the battle that just ensued.

You were surprised it lasted as long as it did.

But as the dust settles you think to yourself "How the hell did I survive..... again?"

Gladiators wear
a twisted smile
More than a
little bit askew

The snarl of
disdainful contempt
and the optimism
of the eventual win

For him it's just
another judgment
day again

Confident in the outcome
His preparation is for war
Knowledge of the victories
triumphed in before

Behind the stoid steel facade
He glares upon the prey
Another snarling man
who expects to win the day

The adversary also
He wears the twisted smile
Expecting that
the man He sees
is another man whom
He will slay

For every day is
judgment day
again.


-R.

(10.17)
-LA

Standing outside the coliseum
He wipes his tattered brow
As he waits in chains
And what remains
Of a worn and used nightgown

The oak doors creak as they slowly bow
He walks the axis road
The dogs at his heels, he knows, he feels
Pains that have been bestowed

A table is set upon which blades rest
The choice of which he makes
He reaches forward, picks up the sword
No room here for mistakes

The helmet is hot, he feels his breath
As he walks upon the field
He is a trapped snake inside a crate
He raises up his shield

His adversary stood there watching
With a shaking fretful eye
They prepared to fight until deaths bite
Took and run them dry

With one fell swing of the sword
He brings his foe down
The steel glistens in the sunlight
Enhanced with the smell of blood

The crowd cheers and roars
What do they know of it?
The life he has taken
It cannot be replaced

He is trapped inside
He cries for freedom inside
Slowly he dies inside
Inside himself.

The thing that kills me most
Shattering me from within
Is not the absence of your shield
But this abrupt awareness
Of the awful emptiness
That has now settled into the place
Which hope has just vacated.
I ride out into the colloseum
Battle-clad in armour
Club swinging, sword at the ready
A quiver full of arrows
Just to defend you.
But I will fall at the very first shot
This armour I call my skin
Will be the death of me.
Because the truth is
You were my armour
You were my shield
And then I realised you never were.