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Poem

In labyrinths, shadows dance and flicker, a chessboard of time unfolds,
Where dreams, like pawns, march solemnly through mist and silent groves,
And every queen, crowned with sorrow or with joy, knows the ancient moves,
For life, the hidden grandmaster, preordains each step our spirit beholds.
Under the canopy of night, constellations carve uncharted designs,
A chess game enshrined in cosmic dust, with destinies intertwined,
One soul, lost in the ebb of thought, whispers to the winds resigned,
Checkmate, a dance of fate, their paths through stars defined.
Melancholy, a silken web, ensnares the heart in threads of gold and grey,
As if the earth itself hums a mournful tune, weaving tales of yesterday,
And every sigh, a rook’s lone cry, echoing through the endless fray,
Knowing well that every piece plays part in life’s eternal play.
Thus, beneath the moon’s pale glow, we find ourselves in quiet trance,
Murmuring secrets to the night, longing for a fleeting chance,
To break free from the scripted game, and against the odds, advance,
Yet knowing life, the unseen hand, has choreographed our dance.
And in this subtle reverie, where every thought is like a tide,
Waves of fate and free-will clash in the ocean of the mind,
We wander through the checkered field, with hope and loss entwined,
Chessmen of ephemeral dreams, in the grand design confined.
For life’s a sage, unseen but felt, a sculptor of our paths and pain,
Carving with unseen chisel strokes, the joy, the grief, the gain,
So heed these whispered warnings well, in the calm or in the rain,
To play or not, the game of life, where the end is yet the same.

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