Shatranj

Two wits collide
Bloody boxer's hungry eye-gleam
Weighing perfection and harmony
The ocean of flying scimitars
The duel of snake-masters

Some set up mighty fortresses
Some observe and whittle the foe
Some call the charge and plunge
Some grapple and strangle slow
Force and object in balanced contest

Death to the one who slips last
The one who lets the scales fall
Glory to the one who gambles
The artisan of the immortal
The noble savage in war paint

The conch blows, the kumite bow
Choking tension and shaking fingers
One must crack in a war of extinction
Over captive generals and fallen men
The flag is raised over the ramparts.

The game of chess is art, a form of war-poetry. The tension and craft and flow of a well fought game is something akin to a painting or a poem that ebbs and flows with sensuous grace. When I played in tournaments, every game 3+ hours of sheer mental torture ending in utter joy or grief. It's why chess has a terrible beauty - it is brutal on the losing side, even though it requires two great players to make a great game. It imbues the interdependent spirits of both warrior and general. (All of this is null and void if you open with 1.d4)

Written to "Triumph", "Protect Ya Neck", "Shadowboxin'", "4th Chamber" and "Weak Spot" by the Wu-Tang Clan, especially GZA.