Taj Mahal
Fantastic story in milky marble,
In honor of a wife, so praiseworthy (?)
Though seems overflow of fidelity,
Tajmahal is Muslim art, painterly;
From around world he brought so precious stones.
He ordered his whole kingdom to labor.
Mumtaj bore Fourteen children, soulfully;
Her youngest tried to break his father's bones,
Didn't Shahjahan keep wives for favor?
Six, the history says, quite dolefully...!
Maddened with thoughts of a lone masterpiece,
He gathered all artisans; gave gifts, sweet;
Cut off the hands; plucked out the eyes, with ease,
And played fiddle, like Nero, as in treat;
Lo, the architect did greatest of deed,
Made a hole, no one knows where, till this day,
And, hence, it's leaking, leaking and leaking;
Engineers of every caste, sect and creed,
Thenceforth, have tried greatest possible way,
To stop this seepage and irksome reeking...!
So, when I look at you, Tajmahal, dear,
Pool of blood floods within my naked eyes;
Should I ignore these for art-sake and drear,
Or bear it for heart of love that ne'er dies?
Reject simile, metaphor! Parts of speech,
No figures of speech match human being,
Tell Shajahan and Mumtaj this great fact;
Every one to every other must teach,
It's each and every being's well-being,
And not monuments that truly attract...!!!
04 May 2022
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