Whispers of Diana: The Crown’s Silent Bullet

They dressed it in flashing lights and sirens, A crash in the night, the tunnel’s iron silence. But oh, I knew—it was never the speed, It was the order, cloaked in noble creed. I was not meant to love beyond the bloodline, Not him, not us, not a heart outside their shrine. A kiss under the moon became sedition, And in their eyes, I was the queen of opposition. The cameras clicked, but so did something else— A plan, sharp as diamonds on a duchess's shelf. They watched me through walls, through wires, Monarchs don’t forgive what the heart inspires. He was the wrong name, the wrong hue, And I? I was once their golden view. But a rose with roots too deep in truth, Is clipped before it bears forbidden fruit. A sniper, yes—not with guns but with minds, Their bullets are papers, pixels, bloodlines. The crash? A performance for the blind— But ghosts know who lit the fuse behind. Advanced were their tools, machines cold and clean, Surveillance like gods, but no soul in between. I speak now through shadows, through tear-stained stone, A mother, a woman—silenced, alone. But history listens where power forgets, And I am still here in the hearts I beget. Not all royals wear crowns of gold— Some wear silence, eternal, bold.