From right to left and back to right,
Is white to black and back to white.
And the only sound that’s ever scored,
Is royal footsteps on the board.
A priest’s reach across the squares-
Ensnares a blackened peasant there.
Yet horsemen flank him from the rear,
And without words, he disappears.
Pity chess is not like life,
One side black, the other white.
For then men wouldn’t wonder hard,
Who their friends and enemies are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, but 'tis like life win or lose and reset the board as the game of life goes on.