The Taj Mahal By Sahir Ludhianvi To you, my love, the Taj is a symbol of love. Fine.

Fine too that you venerate this, the valley where it sits. But meet me somewhere else. The poor visiting the royal assembly? Absurd. What's the sense of lovers journeying on That road which bears the prints of royalty's contempt? Look at the emblems of arrogant majesty, The background to this sign of love. Do dead king's tombs delight you? If so, look into you own dark home. In this world, countless people have loved. Who says their passions weren't true? They just couldn't afford a public display like this. These buildings and tombs, these abutments and forts, Are a despot's pillar of majesty. Cancers upon the breast of earth, a chronic cancer Which sapped the blood of our ancestors Who, my love, must have loved too. It was their art that shaped this exquisite form. But their beloved's tombs stand without name or fame; Until today, no one even lit a candle for them. This garden, this place on the river's bank, These carved doors and walls, this arch, this vault What are they? The mocking of the love of our poor By an emperor propped upon his wealth: My love, meet me somewhere else.

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