The steam exerted fills the room
In a test, a game, a match till doom
A chess set sits upon a desk
Each piece in a strategic mess
Player One brisks his chin
Player Two looks up at him
The moves are planned, not to fate
Yet, in the end, its stale mate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked the detail in your poem...memorable. It also flowed very well. Take care. -Michael