It still stands tall withan air of fetid vanity

Musty smells clogging the nostrils of the breeze

That enter through the olios carved in chipped walls

Dennuded of plaster down the ages

The corridors that had carpeted floors

And brocaded walls aeons ago

Are now tainted with fingerprints of moss

And the stains of seeping rain water

Old bricks baked in furnaces of history peep out

Their countenace wounded and scarred

The walls that are dilapidated by hands of Time

Every wall, every crevice, every footstep, every window

Every mirror, every brick and every statue of old

Has a tale to whisper to the ears

Of the garrulous, gossiping wind

If they could but speak out aloud

Veils of myriad mysteries in the womb of the past

Would be lifted to reveal facts that astound

Sagas of love and tales of betrayal and conspiracy

Stories of past anecdotes, accounts of beauties behind veils

Unlauded and unknown, forgotten

Secrets entangled in reticulate cobwebs

Would dawn on the world as revelations

And arduous tasks of questing historians eased…