The Fairy Princess

Poetry

S M Hasnain
The Lark
2 min readApr 7, 2024

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Photo by Sofia on Unsplash

In a palace made of gold,

Perched upon a mountain-top,

There was a glittering throne once,

Of the choicest rubies made,

In perfection’s finest hour;

And around it all was laughter,

Great merriment and sport,

With flowers in great abundance,

Music’s moving melodies;

And colors in profusion,

Bathed in the light of day.

And living in the palace,

Was a fairy princess, sprite,

Fashioned with the dreams of youth,

Both pretty and petite.

I said to her, “Oh princess!

I am your servitor;

And will, as a devotee,

Sit beside your palace door.

I’m weary of the world outside,

Afraid of pain in store;

Oh hide me from the eyes of grief

Within the palace walls;

Or else this little atom

Of existence shall be crushed,

Within the great commotion

Of the stars up in the sky.”

She raised her eyes towards me,

Softly glowing in the light,

Gentle, very charming,

And in colors, colored bright.

Then slowly they were clouded o’er,

With evening’s mists of grief;

And someone filled the wine-cup –

Made of misty moonbeam light –

With vintage wine of grapes.

She said, “Come take this palace,

And this throne, all that you see!

But where will you take refuge?

From one’s self one cannot flee!

Go! Take to your beloved’s feet,

This earthly melody;

Go raindrop! to the river take,

This drop of longing, free.

You’re grief and you’re laughter,

You are spring and autumn, sere;

But I have in a daydream seen,

A world of beauty, sheer;

Which in its ecstasy will drown

Your longing and your grief.”

I said to her for this accept

My sacrifice supreme;

Come, let us both prepare to leave,

And see this world you’ve seen.

On music of the anklet-bells!

Come, down your melody,

Within the mystic strains of lute,

And tabla’s rhythmic beats;

And come oh beckoning will-o-wisp!

And lose your entity,

Within the colored sunbeams,

As they dance upon the sea.”

It said, “I am captive,

Of both color and the light,

And much as I would like to go,

They won’t let go of me;

And nor will both my wings permit,

My body to take flight,

My soul to soar, be free.”

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S M Hasnain
The Lark

Passionate writer exploring politics, religion, poetry, society, art, literature, and culture intricacies.