Kingdom of the Princess of Fear

The Queen of the Muse whispered a warning in my ear, she said beware of the Princess of Fear. While I have written extensively on the Muse’s Kingdom, I have yet to address the Kingdom of the Princess of Fear. She too holds court. Born of the same mother as the Queen of the Muse, but a father that bore the mark of Cain, the Princess of Fear traded her soul for black power.

Her kingdom is found across the black rivers of poison. It is a dark land, without light or hope. In her fields, slaves toil picking bitter fruits and poison harvests. In her gardens wander the lost souls of intoxicated addicts, who lazily doze under weeping-willow trees. Her land is the paradise reached by the zealots and suicide bombers.

Past the winged-furies that fly overhead, and the armed guards with scimitars and damascene blades that stand on her gates and guard her palace, the Princess is down a long, deserted hall. She sits upright on a black granite throne. Her long black hair flows down her back, with a golden tiara bejeweled with blood diamonds sitting delicately on her head. Around her neck sits a necklace of nails, that drapes delicately over her collar. Her black kohl-stained green eyes pour over black-inked manuscripts of plots and ploys that will further her aims; she wages her clandestine war with her weaponry of vices.

The Princess of Fear reaps intolerance and sows hatred. She has much sway, and she silences the best while filling the worst with passionate zeal. She imbues the thieves with quickness and the cons with cunning. She makes men weak with jealousy, and fills their hearts with envy. I saw a glimpse of her in the eyes of two men coming to fisticuffs over a 5 rupee pen.

The Princess of Fear gave twisted biblical verse to the slave masters of the Confederacy. She is the creator of castes, the architect of apartheid. The patron saint of the assassin, she led John Wilkes Booth through the dark theater, and roared with him “Sic semper tyranis.” She enlisted Gavarillo Princip and the Black Hand to plunge Europe into generations of chaos. The evil princess sent Nathuram Godse to silence Gandhi, then laughed as bloodshed racked partition. She sat in the book depository and steadied Oswald’s aim. She gave James Earl Ray cover in the shrubs, then stoked the flaming ghettos after her handiwork was carried out. It was her dark yeshiva in which Yigal Amir was a student, and with him she crushed Oslo. The Princess of Fear and her dark kingdom are found in the hearts of all men.

But the Queen of the Muse watches out for those who will hear her warnings. Far away, in a distant land, the Queen of the Muse sits below rounded marble domes. On the cool marble floor, she sits in peace. With henna decorating the palms of her hands, and wrapping up her arms. Beeswax reddens her lips, and black kohl lines her eye, as she stares out into the distance. A vermilion tikka adorns her forehead, while jewels and gems adorn her face and body. Sparkling diamond earrings, a golden nose ring and anklets of silver to announce her presence. She is wrapped in the softest purple silk. On the walls, the simple words of warning are inscribed in black calligraphy:

Guard your thoughts, they become your words

Guard your words, they become your actions

Guard your actions, they become your habits

Guard your habits, they become your character

Guard your character, it becomes your destiny