From New Delhi we took a car, on a bright and sunny day.
Our goal was to drive to the Taj all the way.
Past crowded streets and traffic thick we reached at first, not last,
The Grand Trunk Road where vehicles moved both slow and fast.
Cars, trucks and bullock carts, and rickshaws motorized,
Cycles bearing more than one, and buses oversized
Seemed to roll as they pleased, and this I did suspect:
That there were no good traffic rules, which wielded much respect.
They crossed the lines and overtook, at random, one assumes.
Honking horns ceaselessly, midst all the exhaust fumes.
Past Mathura and Brindavan, where Krishna once had played,
Past scores of little towns, where people prayed and stayed.
Past accidents on the roads, and trucks broken down,
We reached at last the congested and famous Agra town.
And is this Agra, this the town, of which my fancy cherished!
So like Wordsworth did I feel: An image that just perished.
We parked the car in a crowded lot, and took a van to Taj:
That great and famous monument, of the extinct Mogul Raj.
We stood and saw the awesome Taj, with the vast blue sky behind,
To describe it and its charm, enough words we couldn’t find.
Stupendous, glorious, it stood proud and serene,
It was a feast to our eyes, nothing such we’d ever scene.
Its symmetry was striking, its majesty was grand,
It was the most beautiful structure in the land.
The marble and the etchings, its ornate profusion,
The architect’s devices to cause some illusion,
The minarets, the domes, the mosques on either side,
The peaceful tank that lay in front the pathways long and wide:
The tombs within the building, of the king and his queen.
All made us just exclaim, “What a magnificent scene!”
It was sad the Mogul’s beloved wife, died when she was so young.
But if she had lived to ninety three, would the Taj ever have sprung?
Unhappy things do happen in life, this of course is true.
But sad things in life and history, may bear some good fruits too.
December 5, 2012