a poem a day by A.J.Rao


You see death grows cold and beautiful
After  chilling final bath in the mortuary
Under overarching shadows of banyan.

We hope their highnesses have taken to
Shiny basalt beds under cryptic skylight
As the fanfare died down around them.

The men were seen moving their hands
Up and down, as their behinds retraced
Calling themselves no-things, no-things.

(after a visit to the beautiful royal tombs of the Quli Qutub dynasty of Hyderabad)


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