She claims to be one.
"What?" I ask.
"I am a poetess". She replies.
"I can write. About love, heartaches, friendship, God. In more languages than the fingers on both your hands." I am impressed. And intrigued. Her poise reveals more about her than she intends me to know about. "Are you of royal blood?", I ask her. "Every bloodline is royal, my lord. For they all have been sired by Him and Her."
"How dare you say that our King and you are equal. I can have you bludgeoned for this!" thunders my loyal prime minister. She appears unruffled. Her lips let themselves smile. She hasn't smiled often. But this time, a mellow chuckle escapes her mouth. It quickly ascends into harmonious mirth and climaxes into the most sweet sounding laughter everyone in my court has ever heard. I smile to myself. My queen laughs from her soul. But her soul isn't scarred. So how come this poetess is laughing with a scarred soul?
"I do not have a soul, my lord", she answers. She can even read my mind!
"God resides in me. God talks through my mouth. God acts through me. For I am God. And God is me. God is my son. And I am His Mother. God resides in us all. And God urges us to find God in others. God cooks, paints, reads and writes through me. For all of us to realize that our souls are one God. And the blood flowing through our veins is God's spirit rousing us to seek. Seek truth, justice, joy and love. As they are God's favourite homes."
I look to my Queen. As she is my best adviser. And for once, she does not know what to say.
"God is the butterfly who flies in my fields. My lover is a manifestation of God's presence. And the horses I breed represent freedom. Free will. Which God honours, by not taking it away. Every act of ours is expected by God to be a tribute to this gift. But we abuse it. The servant boy who massages your mistress's legs, honourable minister, has so much of God in him. And you exploit his sincerity by hurling at him, a dirty cup of stale milk every day. God remembers you this way. As the many litres of milk you pour on that rock in your temple is like the boy's blood to God."
"I have seen worse than you have and you will in all your births", she continues.
"Lives have been uplifted by the profits earned by those who made hammers to bludgeon me", she narrates.
"And yet, I am here. To save you from being bludgeoned. You, who threatens to commit this sin, is the one who is scarred. And your king thinks I am scarred!"
Her laughter does not subside. It never will!
