Were you saved
from yourself
before first being born
Form without
matter
praise without scorn
Were you part
of the promise
not taking the vow
When time
was a servant
not death on the prowl
Did life stay
unbidden
when freedom was free
As daylight
till dusk
no I’s came to be
Did morning
chase daylight
unable to stop
The evening
and twilight
on sale to be bought
As the first step
was taken
the second disowned
The first cut
the deepest
— with nothing on loan
(The New Room: September, 2025)
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.
Life feels like a giant chess game
you wake up already in motion
making choices you didn’t plan
on a board you didn’t build.
What kind of piece are you, are you the King
central, important, yet unsure
needing protection
and fearing the next move?
Or the Queen
bold, limitless, always thinking
but tired of carrying too much
without showing the weight?
Maybe you're the Pawn
quiet, underestimated
but dreaming of becoming more
moving forward no matter what.
Or maybe, just maybe
you’re not any piece at all
but the player behind the silence
trying to find your way through the noise.
your hurt, my hurt
they echo one another~
betrayal spares
n
o n
e
carved from ivory
placed in peril at your whim~
expendable
p
a
w n
It sat with double doors propped open
inviting the poor, the sad, the broken
Its dusty shelves stuffed and sated
with objects – some fresh, others dated
I carried my dreams with heavy arms
formerly dazzling magical charms
Now in tattered cardboard boxes
a life in unresolved paradoxes
Prized possessions, cherished memories
adored as luxurious shiny accessories
Their worth besmirched and unfamiliar
traded for coins of gold and silver.
She is a Queen; she doesn’t need a king to reign.
Your absence was meant to shatter her world,
But you forgot—she builds empires from the ruins.
You thought you were playing her like a game of chess,
But she saw every move; you were just a pawn.
You believed betrayal would go unnoticed,
That her silence meant weakness.
But silence is the calm before her storm—
A Queen destroys, not with rage, but with wisdom.
There’s a Queen inside every girl, waiting to awaken,
A lioness hidden beneath soft, unassuming fur.
She may appear fragile, but don’t be deceived;
Her strength runs deeper than your shallow perceptions.
Some discover their power in whispers,
Others, in the roar of battle scars.
Hurt her, and you’ll not break her;
You’ll ignite the fire she didn’t know she had.
One day, she will rise, unyielding and radiant,
Standing tall as the world bows at her feet.
Underestimate her, and you’ll face the weight of her wrath—
Not born of vengeance, but of self-respect and justice.
A Queen does not seek revenge; she reclaims her throne.
And when she does, no one forgets her name.
Impatiently I wait, can't you feel my ache?
Dragging on, this longing’s a heavy weight.
Do you mock me, think me a clown?
A jester's jest, just to keep you crowned?
Looking down from your throne so high,
Leading me on with a teasing sigh.
Knowing I'm here, a pawn in your game,
Yet still, foolishly, I remain the same,
Stuck in place, waiting for the King’s move.
Silly, hopeless, little me,
My play’s invisible to your eyes,
But my foolery is evident for everyone to see,
Waiting, hoping, yearning to be,
Noticed by you, my king, please let me be…
I do feel that Mr Trump's been changed
I'm most aware..of a different range
Of vaccine speed in the weft and warp'
Billions talking in from the scoros corp
A human queen he finds so amazing
I kid myself not, that he's even hazing.?
I saw some UK pundits view; they say.'
He's changed.. and they're not kidding hey!
Is this just a narrative of more confusion
Will America charge into dissolution?
A sucker punch soon to deck the world.?
Hold on tight, the tide now foams and swirls.'
We flip the hourglass for time,
use moments as each hour's pawn.
Then store Today, when past its prime,
midst Yesterdays--now finished, gone.
If we could make one moment stay
just by flipping the hourglass,
how to choose the hour, the day
so many moments come and pass.
Or, as time's measure disappears,
will we, in greed, pound on the door
of hours, minutes, days, and years
that come but once and then no more.
Time flees--its hours hurry on,
a moment's look, and then it's gone.
February 2, 2022
for Pick-A-Title Vol. 28 Poetry Contest
Flipped Hourglass
Honorable Mention
by Edward Ibeh
Poisoned pawn, desire-aversion
Observe mind oscillate
Worthy lama, chose cessation
In tranquil calm sedate
God beckons, go in now
Fragrance of love follow
Vibrant, joyous, mellow
Lust we spawn
Poisoned pawn
12-December-2021
Quietus
Poisoned pawn, be wary of lust
Taste at your own peril
Ego cravings, learn not to trust
Choose seeds we sow and till
We are not mind-body
Discard then thoughts shoddy
Negate desires gaudy
Life game gone
Poisoned pawn
19-September-2021
Quietus
Lamet!
is what she hears first
him, screaming her second name
as he descends upon her
no time to process
gravity
a thud, tearing her core to shavings
Maiweeeee! She is puzzled.
His baritone dropping the 'n'
agitation
a wooden scrabble.
Nothing is left between her
and Pee, not a grain
all’s crushed
smothering their screams
interlocking their groans.
He is a pawn, no saphead
giving it to her, a pounding
her splinters
putting him on like a glove
a blood-wood
fragments of his body all over her.
She, a Mortal
(he notes the ‘r’ replacement)
implodes in silence, his pain.
She is deep
no winnowing basket
Her pleas chaff going with the wind
consummating with eyes
but she, too dry to go gunky.
Left to recline in the tree shade, heaves
silent sighs among groundnut sheaves
“You know I l-o-v-e you,”
“Yet it spells p-a-i-n, right?”
“We are just pieces of a g-a-m-e dear,”
he sighs rolling onto his back.
I don't want to live
I want to see him again
A pawn in their game
Today I landed on d3
ready to attack the enemy
there on the snowy hill
while I paved way for the bishop
and the Knight to launch from the rare.
I am just a soldier
trained to overcome his fear.
I have my allegiance pledged
to cross through the dark mud on d4
and swim in the whitish sea
to defend the King
even when traded on the battle field.
They call me a pawn
with a soldier's spirit
They call me a weakling
yet I captured gallant knights
and sent shivers down opponent's spine.
Today I captured castles
and chased the powerful queen
I ran after men on horse backs
even when my sole bled.
Today I raised morale of comrades
and we marched into enemy territories
with our fears being traded for success.
Today I met the King pinned on b8
while being commandeered
by a great tactician
who believed in what I can do
when others believed I was but a tiny pawn
And in the end it was a checkmate.
(c) 2020 Muyideen Ayinla
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