Ruins of a medieval city in Indian Jungle

 Ruins of a medieval city in Indian Jungle

Thick as a blanket

Leaves are in quintuplets,

I cut through the stormy jungle

With, surely, many a fumble

And in the center, the Sun’s light

Brightens up sweet Bengal’s might

Brought down, probably by a fight

The lifeless remains, unpleasant quite

What a city it must have been

And which songs must it have seen

But any trace of them wiped clean

Except the palace of the queen

Decrepit cobwebs, explicit godheads

Magnificent statues, lovely virtues

Stink of the rats, perfumes of the royal cats

What was then, is, verily, not now

I turn around to see a shrine

To cry at that Vishnu is surely no crime

Crafted with the country’s finest lime

But a crack! Oh no sublime

Yet, me the pauper

Has naught to offer

‘Cept a tiny flower

Left on the queen’s coffer

Turning around, I still see no crowd

The sunbeam too - behind rims of cloud

The fair city might be proud

But to the future, I turn around

Addendum

‘cept – Except

Bengal – a province in colonial India

Vishnu – the Hindu deity of preservation

Notes

In this poem, I've tried to explore themes of decay and re-discovery. Although, these are universal phenomena, these are experienced through our human constraints. Human endeavours such as nationalism and literature, are often entrenched with nostalgia for times past. But the current era is marked by a morbid obsession with the past, one I've attempted to reproach in my piece. I've derived inspiration from vernacular descriptions of Indian cities, as well as accounts of European travellers to India during the colonial period. Although India, was materially poor, she had a range of spiritual insights to offer to the inquisitive traveller. This dichotomy is something I've used to weave poetry around – one must draw from the past, but not be trapped in it.