Witches of Lore

K. Raheen

This be the story

Of Reya the first,

A knight in all her glory,

Feared by the worst.

Bright as the daffodils,

Were her golden locks,

She fought battles on the hills,

And was as cunning as the fox.

Monsters she slayed,

With her iron sword,

But her pure self played

With koalas and Njord.

Righteous and kind,

She fought for the oppressed,

Even when the cool wind,

Would rain down on the distressed.

Healthy and strong,

She was one to behold,

Vowing her lifelong

Service with a heart full of gold.

Amidst one of her travels,

In a tavern long lost,

Her eyes settled on a marvel

– A princess quite sauced.

Fierce and independent,

The Princess of Lore,

A lion as a pendant,

Frida always wore.

Anger and pain,

She harbored in her breasts,

In hail or in rain,

She always fought her best.

Drunk in the tavern,

Their somber eyes fixate,

In the light of the lantern

It all felt like fate.

Like a rose in spring,

Blossomed their love,

Even the birds began to sing,

Of their happiness thereof.

They fought with sincerity,

And hoped for peace.

Ridding the world of disparity,

They wanted fires to cease.

So went their days,

Until one wintry night,

When a fierce gaze

Drew them into a fight.

A brutal battle they fought,

Till they couldn’t anymore,

Alas, they were caught,

By the Kingdom of Lore.

Locked up in a tower,

Frida has stayed,

By the King’s power,

Reya was slayed.

No daughter of his,

Was to marry a witch,

That is how it is,

In the world of the rich.

First Published
First and Multidimensional Queer Women’s Collective of Bangladesh

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