It is a grand place forsaken ,
Countered by hot and arid weather,
A glimpse of the ruins lying in mounds,
Grips the heart to an untold melancholic sound..
The ornate and frescoes lay exposed,
Scorching sun and dusty wind damage,
Intermittent rains and unmindful use destroy,
The massive structures look weird and poor like a broken toy.
The lovely porches and patios,
Once avenues of hospitality and gaiety
Stand as remnants of past glory,
Covered with mites and insects in a hurry.
The courtyards long and extensive,
Once a hotspot of revelry and weddings,
Remain as ghosts of their self in hay days,
Encouraging a growth of moss and shrubs in a lay.
The doors with elaborate designs,
Speak volumes of the happenings ,
Now stay shut under lock and key,
Effacing the memories of the mighty deed in a flee.
The huge heavy gigantic keys,
Made a clatter while opening the doors,
Now rarely seen as there are none,
Wishing to get in and out for fun.
The pillars of wood and stone,
Exhibit colours blue ,brown and black,
Seem to talk about the rich heritage,
In a tone mild succumbing to the ravage.
The locked mansions remain in dark,
They hold large wealth behind the doors,
Enticing the thugs to loot the bounty
Leaving the rightful owner in penury.
The land is a home to philanthropists
Its speciality is food and culture,
The marvellous relics are now ruins,
Casting a disenchantment and despair fluent.
Meenas Poems 