QUEEN IS DEAD

The night sky,

with zillion galaxies;

billion hopes and,

with trillion whispers,

yielded a Queen of fire and soul.

Her tears be catastrophes;

Her eyes be light;

Her hands, comfort;

And her words be pillars.

She killed monsters with her bare hands,

took darkness from forsaken lands;

Made stars die, for them to wish upon;

culled other's over her soul.

But that night in the kingdom,

whispers worked the other way;

From black cloaked masked people,

the bullets flew to slay;

Is her dance true?

How her feet don't burn in fires?

Does she wear masks?

What if she was the shadow, and light?

Words, the powerful immaterial;

Hopes, the disguised enemy tonight;

Time, the cunning friend;

Shields, the fearful nothings; became.

The fortnight came with a storm.

The dusk blinded the moonlight,

and oceans roared history.

Took everything from the queen,

until they swayed with wines around bonfires.

She was her kingdom,

and her kingdom fell.

They took the golds and the diamonds,

the musky notebooks and paintings;

Ashed the sittings and memories,

even the curtains and the frames.

Her voice was voiceless.

Her screams were powerless.

Ruler was never taken;

Were these the hands of fate?

And it so happened,

the Queen in front of gathering;

took her own life, with her bare hands.

She was gone, 

with the storms and calms;

Her universe with zillion stars,

but for their eyes,

It was still dark.

But tonight,

there were again whispers;

What if she comes back;

Will she, come back?