I never knew I would be a long distance runner.
I´ve lost the drive to win
and my voice has become sweet.
Young tigers think of me
as an easy piece to hunt down
in middle game traps
and I feel like a gazelle.
What a curse
to feel all this music
and have no talent
to sing it!
Sober voice of baritone in tune,
sad cossack soul.
The fields on the river banks
should be green by now,
bishop to f5, check.
All those memories...
Tal called me craftsman.
I admired Petrosian´s hidden control,
so infinetely elegant,
and Bronstein was my friend,
a twin soul in melancholy,
but an artistic daring spirit.
I never knew I would be a long distance runner.
How lonely the hotels
behind my thick eyeglasses!
I will break the center
and open up the flanks.
I will balance my pieces
to play a winning endgame.
Knight to d5,
it´s a beautiful square
in this position.
How sweet to sing
the symphony
of cold chess!
My voice has become sweet.
I will win my final game today.
Luis Gil de la Puente
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/7-swan-song/