The Opening Line Poem by Zubyre Parvez

The Opening Line

The wool was pulled over my eyes
By some of the more crooked chiselers
The clouds will clear to show the skies
This game depends on the rules we play
Time waits for no man in terms of chess
Everything will return to the opening
Chip off the old block, you consider
Looking out of the window puffed up glazed
The hundred yard gaze your eyes don't meet
These carved pieces each have their niche
Black and white men will always cast
The world in black and white again
The world past has had its time acting up
The hands spin around the days
Whizz kids at play with great velocity
Sending a piece out to new territory
My hand holds a pen piece, my king.
The salt and pepper pots
Are in carved pieces of pawns
At the stationary legs of the table
Where I write of lots of images
Where I have thought and wrote.
My fist pounds the canvas whole
Breaking out into new directions
The dissolution of my poems cast
Stops me feeling at once so divided
My work is done in my character cast.