hands brush water sparrows snake babbling slot rap piped bark exiled speech
The Queen in Exile
There is the sense of a quest—
Not a crusade, a pilgrimage.
A need to go, a need to return.
Reality—
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Waiting for cancelled trains
Sharing the platforms
With indifferent sparrows;
The piped announcements,
Garbled, babbling in another tongue;
The words of the tracks carry her on:
Rap-rap, rap-rap, rap-rap..
Friendly people are there,
Not snakes but stakes,
They offer support, advise.
Moving place to place,
Room to room, steep stairs.
Another bed and basin,
Somewhere to brush hair
And wash hands. To rest.
Receptionists bark, snap;
The seeking of food, of water,
ATM slots eat the cards.
The food is expensive
Tinned fish, the best option;
Though three egg meals comfort too.
But the queen is without her court—
The missing of company,
Of speech, of sharing the trip.
“May I call you?”
Yes!
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