The Castle of Stones

By Nishtha Mishra

Long stood a castle with white walls of stone,

It had no king’s room neither had a thrown.

The walls were tall, thick and white,

With moss and fern grown to heights.

The pop of colour gave the walls some character,

As if a blank canvas had found it’s painter.

The walls reeked with smell of pain and threat,

As if tears had been flowing on them for centuries of fret.

The castle itself was coated in web,

As if it was a princess who succeeded to ebb.

The castle halls were large and gloom,

They lead nowhere but to the same room.

In that room, I sat there alone,

For ages and ages, right there on my own.

I had taken over that castle and it’s ruffle,

As a shelter from all the world that hustled.

The walls of a painter and the gown of the princess,

Was all in one place to save the empress.

As she sat there alone with herself,

Embracing the loneliness that none had felt.

By Nishtha Mishra