Royal Flush

There once lived a painter, who was famous far and wide

There were several masterpieces, which he effortlessly connived

There were rumors in the villages that his brushes came alive

And that his enchanted paintings enabled dying men survive.

As days flew by his fame swept right across the land

And reached the fiery Queen where her capital would stand

The Queen was known for her temper, and her temperament was bland

Several who uttered to her dislike, had lost a vital gland.              

When she heard of the painter, she summoned him to court

This was one order, the painter could never dare revolt

On the very next morn he put step outside her fort

At every mention of the Queen, his visions would distort.

The entire court was in assembly, when the Queen summoned him

His last chances of survival were hastening to grim

As tears simmered in his eyes and reached up to the brim

The Queen gave a wicked smile and said the following words to him.

“My ministers tell me that you possess a rare gift

I have a delectable thought that can give your creativity a lift

I want a painting from you and it has to be swift.”

The painter’s heart sank to his stomach as he began getting the drift.

“By tomorrow dawn…’ the Queen continued to jive

“Such a painting for me you will have to connive:

When I look at it, it must come alive

You had better get this done, if you want to survive.

The stars stopped twinkling, and squirmed every rock

At such a queer request, the entire country was in shock

What was wrong with the Queen, was it a mental block?

The painter saw the approaching end, as he looked at the clock.

He picked up all his tools, and clutched the drawing board

He headed for the hill top and left behind the hoard

‘If I am unable to paint tonight …’ his thoughts began to soar

‘I would jump off the hilltop, than rather be gored.’

Black clouds started rumbling; looked like it will rain

He set up his canvas, crying in pain

Never would have an artist, wasted his life in such vain

Was the only thought that kept pounding his brain.

None knew where the painter disappeared into the dark night

They thought he had killed himself, and acknowledged his plight

To make a painting come alive was an impossible flight

But the stubborn painter would not give up, without a decent fight.

As their daily routine, the Queen’s court assembled the next day

They waited for the painter as if expecting a play

The Queen summoned for the painter in a thundering sway

And the court prepared in anticipation for the painter’s foray.

The painter emerged from the crowds, holding a frame

As if walking up to the ring in a sparring game

He stood before the Queen adjusting his mane

And he smiled inside when she called out his name.

“Your Majesty, embossed on this frame, behind this veil

Lies your gift which I have detailed

Which as per the instruction that you had entailed

Comes alive, when impaled.”

The Queen asked for the frame to be relieved of its giver

She unlocked the veil and it fell without a quiver

The universe stared like a stagnant river,

As the Queen found herself staring into a mirror.

For the first time ever, the Queen heartily smiled

And tossed her anklet at the painter like a playful child

Gifting him his life and a token mild

While the painter was euphoric with emotions wild.

This served to the Queen as an indication

And triggered in her a benevolent transformation:

To deal with compassion and not consternation

Cultivate empathy and be an inspiration.