The setting sun profusely
showering  golden yellow
over scattered Mughal ruins,
dragged history of dead centuries
in to their conversations.

In Delhi
history rocks one back and fourth
as if  in a swing, when one sees
own predicaments from different angles,
realize, the role of a rolling stone
in the incessant flow of time.

In India past centuries, co-exist
forming  a deep water pool,
on the banks of which,
the cities are made.
this  pool makes its presence felt
amazingly in contemporary life,
you can see your face,
and life itself reflected on its waters,
--as if  walking on the shore of distant times;
an exhilarating feeling, eerie too at times.

History was a live  presence,
all along with them, future loomed
with  grievous air of uncertainty
he and she, two lines drawn parallel
(not by them but others, who know better!)
over the busy today of Delhi
gloriously old, yet decidedly new
and an uncertainty vastly between.

one easily gets lost in the labyrinths
unless fully  imbued all this contradictory complexities.

she said, in dreams she was a princess
who fell in love with a poet penniless
but sung his songs only to her heart,
she never did want anything else
she was blissfully unaware of the
complexities of labyrinths,

the king got furious, she said
like some  parents of present times
who don't hesitate a bit, to **** in cold blood
their children who cross the lines
killings in the  name of honor is on the increase
every day you are informed.

in the story of her nightmares
it all ended in tragedy:
the king without mercy hung
the lovers, who preferred death
than getting separated

He walked back alone,
making way through
the ruins of past strewn
with an agitating heart,
here, the time is a still pool
that refuses to flow,
he thought

between the sunset of past glory
and an uncertain dawn
he and she stand separated
by a dark frightening night.