And they told me a story when I was young,
When I asked in my cherubic, lively, childish tone
‘why can’t I rule a kingdom of my own,
why do I need to wait for a king,
to be coronated as a queen?’
Here how the story goes,
‘she was minacious and stalwart,
Her stark, sturdy orders froze
the bile rising up in one’s scalded throat,
they gagged on words,
And not a soul dared to raise it’s voice,
When she exhaled those staunch, robust commands..
Her palace stenched of pungent white phosphorus,
Poisonous but luminescent,
effulgent rays that blinded even the bravest,
They say she erected her kingdom so sturdy,
That not even the great warriors dared to raise their swords,
Not one dared to fight her,
She was the queen,
Queen without a king,
But can there be any queen without a man for king?
Huh.. She was the most shameless woman, was she not? ‘ said they..
But I saw a trail of stardust blow across my eyes,
As I said, stupefied,
‘ No, instead she was strong,
She was the ‘duchess of swords’
‘ THE QUEEN OF SOULS’..’
And they gasp, petrified, as they see,
my eyes streaked with the fleck of fire,
Perhaps A glimpse of another queen….