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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.