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We met;
Our first and last.
I greeted you with lead
That plowed your breast you gasped for life
In vain.
We played
A morbid game.
Your creed was not my own.
The killing was dispassionate.
Routine.
Your fate
Could have been mine.
We are no more than pawns;
Convenient, mute, unwitting tools
Of greed!
*1960; Naga Times, April 11, 1982