Purple Regalia

Like an ordinary stalk in a purple kingdom,

I stand unnamed among crowns of bloom,

On a blanket of lavender dreams and sweet alpine potion,

Where mountains breathe hush into the sky.

The rows bow gently, disciplined yet wild,

A royal procession dressed in violet light,

Petals holding centuries of calm,

Their silence richer than prayer.

Bees write soft hymns in passing,

Wind moves like silk through the stems,

And the earth, ancient and patient,

Keeps its secrets perfumed.

I am the only one who doesn’t reek freedom—

Rooted not by soil, but by longing,

Watching liberty spill purple across the hills

While my shadow hesitates to follow.

Yet even here, beneath alpine mercy,

I learn:

Regalia is not always flight—

Sometimes it is standing still,

Brave enough to bloom.