LIFE IS A CHESSBOARD

Lifted from Melany

As a chess enthusiast, I’ve always been captivated by the game’s wisdom and how its lessons extend far beyond the board. Each piece, with its unique power and purpose, mirrors the complexities of life, teaching us strategy, patience, and the beauty of thoughtful actions. Inspired by this, I’ve written the following poem to reflect on life’s parallels with the game I love.

Life is a Chessboard

By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Pawn moves slow, its steps are small,

Yet persistence leads to standing tall.

From humble roots, great things arise,

Dreams transform before our eyes.

The knight leaps wide, unbound by line,

It finds new paths where stars align.

Creative minds will always see,

A way through life’s complexity.

The bishop glides with focused aim,

A visionary in life’s great game.

With clarity, its reach expands,

Shaping futures with steady hands.

The rook stands firm, a pillar strong,

Its steadfast path both sure and long.

Reliability builds the trust,

A solid foundation a must.

The queen commands, a leader true,

Balancing roles, both bold and new.

With strategy and heart combined,

Guides the way with a brilliant mind.

The king moves slow, yet holds the key,

Protecting purpose, our "why" to be.

For in its heart, life’s meaning lies,

The core we cherish beneath the skies.

Each piece a role, each move a part,

A lesson in life, a work of art.

On the chessboard of life, we learn and grow,

Strategic steps in the paths we sow.

PERSONAL LINKS

From different sites

https://www.facebook.com/IKWIR1950?mibextid=ZbWKwL

DAYBREAK DRIZZLE

8 January 2025

Daybreak Drizzle

by Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Everyone I know is fading away,

This heart bends under sorrow’s sway.

The pitter-patter upon the roof,

Mourns a rhythm stark and aloof.

The cold seeps deep, an unyielding toll,

Creeping from the depths of my soul.

Is this the burden of time’s cruel art,

To feel every absence tear at the heart?

Perhaps it’s not just age that I find,

But the shadow of loss etched in my mind.

The fleeting moments, so fragile, so rare,

Now linger as ghosts in the thinning air.

The rain, like tears, descends in despair,

A dirge for the love no longer there.

Through the storm’s lament, one truth remains,

Grief is the echo where love sustains.

In the quiet hours before the dawn,

I sit with my coffee, alone but drawn,

To the silence of thoughts, tangled and free,

Allowing myself to get lost in me.

A cig burns, and the world stands still,

As I drift in the quiet, lost at will."

Admin.

Fleeting and flowing. The rhymes are perfect with excellent threads weave in eloquence. Let me just admire your enchanting penchant for words so effortless to come forth from your well of bottomless knowledge and wisdom. Thank you Mel. I am in awe of your special gift.

DON'T WAIT TILL I'M GONE

3 January 2025

"Don’t wait til I’m gone

And then stand up to speak

About all the things 

That you loved about me

Don’t sing all my praises

Through all of your tears

When I am no longer 

Beside you to hear

Don’t leave all that love

Like a secret unsaid

But tell me tomorrow

Or right now instead

And I’ll tell you too

Of the things I admire

About who you are

And how much you inspire

I’ll speak from my heart

Whilst you’re still here to know

“You are” not “you were”

Or “it used to be so”

I’ll speak of your light

Whilst you’ll still hear the words

And not leave that love

In the darkness, unheard

So tell me tomorrow

Or right now - don’t wait

Because we don’t know 

When it might be too late

Because we don’t know

When our time might be up

And we need to hear - while we are here -

How we’re loved....."

@Becky Hemsley Poetry 

Artist: Bettina Baldassari - BettiPigna

AREN'T WE FORGETFUL?

3 January 2025

Aren't We Forgetful?

By Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

Beneath the sky, a garden lay,

Where dreams were sown in earth and clay.

By hands of old, its roots took hold,

A haven green, a tale retold.

Seedlings sprouted, tended with care,

A promise of plenty, a future to share.

But greed crept in, with careless stride,

Shadows fell where hope once thrived.

The caretaker’s hands, they thought gentle and pure,

Turned selfish, blind, to wealth's allure.

He stripped the soil, he drained the streams,

He shattered, generations' dreams.

Workers murmured, their voices low,

As fear took root where flowers grow.

“The garden fades,” their whispers said,

“The fruits now rot, the earth lies dead.”

Corruption thrived in seasons past,

Its shadow long, its lessons vast.

Remember the father brought soil to grief,

Yet, now his offspring leads as the chief.

The Senior has long been dead,

Though whispers of ruin and shame still spread.

Son vows to mend, yet shadows remain,

For history repeats, and lessons wane.

Yet gardens live when love is sown,

Not greed that claims it for its own.

It takes a spark, a voice, a stand,

To heal the scars upon the land.

Shall they bow to despair’s cruel art,

Or rise as guardians, strong of heart?

Together, they could tend and mend,

The garden’s tale need not yet end.

For every leaf, for every bloom,

Chase away the creeping gloom.

A single spark can light the way,

And turn the night to brightest day.

So will they fight for roots and shade,

Or let the garden's glory fade?

The answer lives in every hand,

To guard the soil, reclaim the land.

Admin's Note:

Epic and sad saga applicable to the recent times and events. Humans are just a cycle of how it was in ancient days.