The Portrait and the King / Poem
There is a portrait on the wall, broken.
But its rooted and lodging there for long
Long since the day his soul had fallen,
Like a glorious king defeated,
He bared his armour , waited..
One day came with a bee buzz
The portrait had nestled hundreds
And they called out like in Warfield
Soon with a thumping heart he looked up
And the bees left their chamber in alarm
The broken glass started shedding the frame
Slowly it began to shrink like in a rapid flame
It reminded him of a conversation long back
Of two teary eyed mortals enraptured in dark