Echoes Of A Fiery Crown

By A. Sanjeev Kumar

In halls where echoes whispered of my name,

I bore a crown heavy with thorns of blame,

A queen confined in a marriage's game,

Where love was lost and trust was shattered flame.

My mother, Catherine, in Aragon's hold,

Once hailed as queen, now in shadows cold,

Her tears, a river flowing, unrestrained,

Her fading grace, a memory, now pained.

My father, Henry, in his endless might,

Blind to the wounds, he caused in his sight,

In search of heirs, his heart took flight,

While I, a daughter, borne of his plight.

Beneath the weight of shadows, I did tread,

A fragile soul, in isolation, dread,

With whispered doubts that filled my head,

A child of sorrow, by loneliness led.

My father's whims, a serpent's cunning wile,

Led him astray, from love's gentle smile,

Anne Boleyn's allure, a fleeting, false guile,

Unraveled trust, left wounds to compile.

From queen to castaway, my fate was spun,

By decree of power, a duty begun,

Branded unjustly, innocence undone,

My rightful place obscured by misfortune.

In chambers cold, I felt my silent tears,

A child bereft of love throughout the years,

Her whispered prayers, a comfort to my fears,

A haunting memory, drenched in tears.

Her final breath, a whisper frail and weak,

A mother's love, no death could ever seek,

Alone I stood, my soul left to beseech,

In tempests of a father's cold critique.

A phantom crown, a burden on my brow,

A weight of thorns that pierced my spirit now,

In courts where loyalty had fled somehow,

I fought to find a sliver of strength somehow.

Through years of plotting, whispers filled the air,

My faith, a beacon in despair's dark lair,

The tide of change, a tempest of despair,

Yet in my heart, a flicker of hope was there.

But fate's cruel hand would deal its final blow,

A false hope blossomed within, a heavy blow,

A phantom child, a fleeting, hollow show,

A mother's joy turned to ashes, oh!

Misdiagnosis, cold as death's cruel hand,

A hope extinguished, like grains of sand,

The child I longed for, taken by demand,

A mother's grief, forever to expand.

In fevered grip, I faced my final hour,

Alone, with darkness closing like a flower,

The weight of crown, a burden to devour,

A life of sorrow, marked by pain and power.

Let history judge with eyes that see the pain,

The queen who bore the burdens of her reign,

Whose heart was heavy with her losses, plain,

Yet found in faith the strength to not complain.

And though they mock and scorn my tarnished name,

Let understanding soften judgment's bitter claim,

For in my heart, I bore the weight of fame,

A queen consumed by sorrow, not just shame.

So let this tale be whispered through the years,

Of Mary, queen, whose struggles caused many tears,

Whose legacy is stained by endless fears,

Yet in her heart, a love for England peers.

For though my reign may end in whispers grim,

And history may paint my story on a whim,

In hearts of those who seek to understand,

My pain endures, like grains of shifting sand.

And as I fade into the silent night,

Let understanding be the legacy in sight,

A queen who faced the darkness without fright,

And in her sorrow, found a guiding light.

So let this monologue be my final plea,

For Mary, queen, who faced the stormy sea,

And in her struggles, may there be a key,

To unlocking understanding, pure and free.

May history judge with eyes that truly see,

The woman behind the royal majesty,

Who faced each challenge with humility,

And bore her burdens with grace and dignity.

For though I faltered in the eyes of some,

I held my country's welfare, beating drum,

And though my reign may be remembered glum,

I played my part, with courage, I did come.

Let not my flaws obscure the truth within,

But see the queen who strove through thick and thin,

And in my legacy, let there be a spin,

A deeper understanding, life's full kin.

So let this tale be told for ages long,

Of Mary, queen, who faced the trials headstrong,

Who struggled with the burdens, deep and strong,

Yet held her country, amidst the throng.

Though stained with tears, her memory will shine,

A symbol of resilience, yours and mine,

A queen who faced her trials, line by line,

And left her mark upon the human vine.

Let not the whispers of the past condemn,

But rather, let them be a guiding gem,

For in the shadows, truth may just stem,

A truth that's brighter, than a poet's hymn.

Though history's pen may write in shades of gray,

Let not my legacy fade, come what may,

For in my struggles, may there be a way,

To understand my choices, night and day.

I was a woman, flawed and deeply scarred,

But in my heart, England's love I ard,

And though my reign was stormy, rough and hard,

I faced each challenge, with a steady guard.

So judge me not by actions, stark and grim,

But by the life I lived, within each whim,

And in my legacy, may there be a hymn,

Of understanding, as the light grows dim.

May history judge with eyes of empathy,

And see the woman behind the royal decree,

Who faced each challenge, with humility,

And bore her burdens with a grace, so free.

For in the end, though stained by life's cruel hand,

My legacy remains, a tale so grand,

May my struggles be understood and spanned,

As I depart from this earthly land.

Let history judge with fairness, without spare,

And may my story be told with utmost care,

For I was Mary, Queen, burdened and rare,

A woman who held England in her prayer.

So let this final plea echo through time,

For understanding, in prose and in rhyme,

And may my memory, in its chime,

Bring solace to hearts, throughout all time.

So let this final testament echo through time,

For understanding, in prose and in rhyme,

And may my memory, in its chime,

Bring solace to hearts, throughout all time.

By A. Sanjeev Kumar