Pawn’s Quiet Rebellion
In dim-lit rooms where silence holds,
Two pawns move slow with quiet souls.
No herald’s call, no flashing brand—
Just fragile skin and trembling hands.
The board’s a cage of cracked old wood,
Each step a pulse misunderstood.
Her scarf folds tight against the bruise,
A quiet mark, a whispered ruse.
No knights arrive, no queens descend,
Just measured steps that never bend.
Their breaths are shallow, voices thin,
Yet sparks ignite beneath their skin.
A stolen glance, a muted sigh,
The space between—too vast to lie.
A chessman’s fate—so slow, so near—
Yet courage blooms through clenched veneer.
The king’s far throne ignores the plea,
While pawns craft hope in secrecy.
No checkmate looms to seal their fate,
But trembling hands will shape their fate.
Wood groans beneath their careful tread,
As night consumes the words unsaid.
Yet in this hush, a vow is made—
To stand, to fight, though light may fade.
One step, one breath, one fragile try,
To carve a world beyond the sky.
No dawn foretells what lies ahead—
Just hearts that fight, and hands that wed.
Copyright © Saeed Koushan | Year Posted 2025
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