Commanding a Change

I have commanded the first pawn to march forward,
To recreate the stolen pieces of the jigsaw puzzle,
Whereas she (seeing my pawn appear within the
Fog of war) takes out a blank canvas and a brush,
Her command was her first stroke towards the centre,
A line of crimson to deviate my own thoughts,
Soon I realised her deceptive move and I ordered
My knights to hammer her stubborn mind,
Only then will she accept my point of view:
This world existed for us to consume at our own will,
But there she goes again with her crimson lines,
Except, it curves into oddly shapes: floral hearts,
Such senseless retaliation to our reality that made
Me order my rooks to tear down her territory,
And yet she continues with more worthless strokes,
She switches to green and sings for a melodic dance,
Choreographed specifically for a hardened soul,
Now crumbling as if a disintegrating meteor –
I – I open the chambers of my heart, and listen
To its soothing rhythmic beats, and I listen
With my eyes all of her beauty, and I listen
To her warming natural voices of life,
And I stop. And I listen once again.

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