Tuesday Chess Poem by Eleonora Nieuwjaar

I played chess the other day. At Tuesday wasn’t it?
With you. On my mind, that is, as I was playing against
him – this gentleman with more history than future, I sensed.
That night, this silent battle felt as being a prolonged sit,

as I carefully maneuvered this developing queen’s gambit,
full of starling delight. While persistently hustling
for a stable interpose, his black pawns were marching boldly
ahead without any fear – an impressive but dangerous habit

in my experience. It was until my bishop, located at G4,
so warlike and stout, whispered your beautiful name.
Your explicit – but hidden – sign to ignite me for true war,

for cruising to triumph – squeezing the meanest of mates.
But then my dear, you got careless I must say. I lost the soul
of the play. Or was it you, already in desperate straits?