Built in the seventeenth century
by a King of the world
there stands a building
on the south bank
of the Yamuna river
in the Indian city of Agra
it is seen by some
to be nothing less
than a love poem
set in stone
for you see
long ago
romance befell
consumed and rooted deeply
so much so
until death
it was nothing short
of being a fairy tale
in memory
a marble teardrop
now stands poised
as a mausoleum
a tomb to Mumtaz Mahal
some articulate
though a passionate mourning
it is not without its shadows
for there are people who believe
the building stands on a temple
dedicated to Shiva
once again
religion taints
all things sacred
religion creates
a divide
shrouds everything
except the mind's eye
the name of said building
many revere and admire
Mumtaz may be the jewel
of the breathtaking palace
but what of the artists
who intricately designed
her resting place
the creative ones
who helped birth
the Taj Mahal
the ones who saw tears fall
behind marble walls
their names buried
so long ago
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"Only let this one tear-drop, this Taj Mahal glisten spotlessly bright on the cheek of time, forever and ever.” - Rabindranath Tagore
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