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The ladies of the night
They await
The arrival of their noble prince;
Tonight he’s a little late.
Walking incognito in his beloved city
As is his wont
Dispensing wisdom and justice
To keep the streets safe
He intervenes to rescue
A bedraggled, old man being roughed up.
The ruffians disperse apologetically
At the sight of the old man metamorphosing;
In his place is their ruler, standing tall and erect
His piercing gaze, cane and foreboding words
Turning the men into quivering wrecks.
“Go home and do good tonight” he warns;
“In my kingdom there is to be no crime”.
Belatedly he is here
Looking slightly less than immaculate
Outside his nightly habitat
The palace of pleasure.
The ladies of the night
Scurry to take his hat, cane and coat
Guiding him to his usual seat
Accompanied by his favourite music
And the sound of champagne cork popping out.
But he looks careworn and haggard;
Even the promise of sensual delight
Can’t assuage his disappointment.
He is bored by the entertainment,
By the mazurka, by the mime artist
By the relentless chatter and laughter
Of the ladies of the night.
Lying on that large poster bed
Exhausted and intoxicated,
Recalling the events of the morning;
The carriage outside
The letter brought to him by the maid
The grim news….
His kingdom is to be a republic
His princely privileges withdrawn
His ancestral home to be a museum
His retinue of attendants and servants
Will not be by his side at dawn.
He is a commoner, a common man.
Outside the palace gate he stands
Sans nobility and title, an ordinary man
A grandee stripped of sheen.
He remembers the family history
Over 200 years of aristocracy;
Of waltzes that lasted for an eternity
Music that could be heard
Through the open windows and corridors
Across the surrounding countryside;
The library that housed all the classics
Bound in leather, first editions inscribed
With the authors’ signatures;
Women fainting during poetry readings
At the sight of young wordsmiths,
Their complexions pale, their faces pallid.
The portraits of his ancestors
Dressed in full regalia above the fireplace;
The immaculate lawns and gardens
Tended by his hands with such care;
The servants at his beck and call
The guests arriving at all hours
Staying for days, some never leaving
Till they became a permanent fixture.
The glory and the memories
The lights that never dimmed
Till the advent of this morning.
And now the desolation;
Uniformed and unfamiliar figures
Daring to walk on the royal lawn…
Strolling into town
Without his carriage and entourage
Moving with ease without any airs
Among the people he once ruled;
He smiles at the thought
Of being a common prince.
He has played this role before.
Those nocturnal walks in disguise
Along narrow cobbled streets as well as broad avenues
Muttering to himself, stay close,
Stay close to the people, noble prince
Stay close...... |
