The Ballad Of Chess Poem by Tsira Gogeshvili

It is a game
Of strategy and skill,
Fight all the kinsmen,
As “king” rivals “king…”

A game on the sixty-four
Black-and white equal squares
Is called chess, and nothing else…
Such a name the game bears…

Two very fast castles,
Two rooks – with knights…
The king and the naughty queen…
Roads covered with ice…

The woman is an amateur hunter,
An amateur gamekeeper she is,
Blessed by a number of moves,
A smart and tactician queen…

No one utters in those troops
An indecent word, a word that is vain.
Eight faithful musketeers uphold
Their honor with all might and main…

The knight storms and rages,
The tamer of wild steeds.
That cavalryman
Is devoted to his king.

You admire the warder and the “henchmen”,
The battle becomes thrilling! No woe,
If you are confronted on that board
By a worthy and courageous foe!

All at once, the black steed
Hoofs the board of the battle,
And the slow king makes friends
With the rook – with the castle…
The greatest move on the squares
Is “castling, ” such name it bears…

The pawns are under fire,
Grief seizes them all! Woe!
The king is in check…
Threatened by the foe!

Time is spent away in thinking,
The sound is absorbed in the note…
The king stamps his foot and mumbles:
“Dear me! Time trouble! Time Trouble! ”

The queen has torn her dress,
The rook is destroyed.
The queen curses the chessmen,
She is enraged and annoyed…

The meeting was not held at the court:
No discussion, no exchange, no debate…
Thus, the king, the military leader,
Has to suffer the checkmate.