Cunning King and The Mirror

Hello, everyone! Warm greetings to y'all. I feel so light while sharing today's poem with you. I wrote it a while back, in the morning within 15 minutes. (Yeah, I surprise myself sometimes.)

The major themes of this poem are- well, that you've got to decide. I loved writing it. It came to life better than my own imagination. I have been waiting to write something like this since a while now. And I am so glad I finally did. 

So, go ahead! Read it! It's all yours to love now.

  Illustration via : Pinterest.

Cunning King and the Mirror.  

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
tell me who's the bravest of them all?
The mirror says,
"It's you, king."

Memories of the battle field,
come flooding into your conscious
of how you brutally killed the other king.
You cheated to win in the ring.

All of this makes,
your lips curve into a faint smile.
You have no regrets for what you did.
"It's not easy to be the bravest of them all."
you think.

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
tell me who's the strongest of them all?
The mirror says,
"You, king".

You recall the memories,
of you owning the queen
after you killed her king.
You wanted to win her more than the battle.

Your chest broadens a little,
and you smirk at the recollection of
how you gave her a flowery bed
to sleep in but she resisted you.

"What a coward she was,
to resist sleeping with the strongest king ever existed."
you think and,
look towards the mirror again.

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
tell me who's the coward of them all?
The mirror says again,
"It's you, king."

The honesty infuriates you,
it lights up a fire of rage in you.
You thwack the mirror hard,
it falls and breaks.

Watching it break into million pieces soothes you,
but also reminds you,
of your adventures with the queen.

How you finally,
coerced her into the bed beside you,
promising her that you won't violate her,
that you won't hurt her dignity.

“What makes a man strongest in the world?”
you ask yourself.
“When you strip a woman off her virtue
because she deserves to.”
you answer yourself.

“Why to be born as a woman,
if you are not ready to give yourself to men?”
you ask yourself with a cunning smirk,
remembering the night you robbed the queen.

-Some Fries, Some Poetry