The Last Queen

Farida Haque
2 min readJan 8, 2023

~ where has it all gone, she said ~ Pixabay

The bulldozers,

They departed.

She who thought

Palaces and sovereignty

Were eternal


Dust swirled;

No magnolia breezes,

Only breaths of recollections.

And the Queen wept.

For her orange trees

Blighted rose bushes

Verdant grasses,

Stolen peacocks

Dislocated honeycombs

Stunned rabbits

Gazebos of marble,

Lapis and inlaid ivory.

She wept for

Gazelles which skipped away, unopened tomes

Augerers and puppeteers

Inconsequential holy texts

Which in the end mocked her.

Lily ponds


And incense burners

The Queen wept


Her King

Now buried

In a wan corner of

Desolated palace grounds

Drowned in cement and

Sandalwood tarnished medals hammered deep into his black soul, he was

Smothered in

Nasturtiums, mosses

And ivies under tired

Laburnum and jacaranda.

The Queen

Sat down and wept

Not on a jeweled throne,

Not on lofty entitlements

But on the tarry road

Which glimmered with

Heat-crazed mirages of

Rolls Royces and Cadillacs

Ancestral gilded calêche

Her winged Chevy

Glazed like an iceberg

Fugitive offspring and

Four hundred year old tiaras…



Farida Haque

Multimedia artist, writer, poet. ‘Celebrating other lives, I am a sparrow in the shadow of a rosebush...’