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Cameras gobble the remnants
of the past.
A granite pavement remains
unbeaten,
where the visitors trample on
the old royal
footprints. An artillery reminds
the passers-by
of a bloody harvest. Tourists
stare in wonder 
what the ancient artists had
carved in fear.
All the splendors of the king
perished,
but his roof and pillars announce
art’s permanence.

It’s the royal chamber. 
Marks of 
the vanished beauty and blush
can be seen
on a wooden coat. Scars of 
old thoughts
and tensions get visible.

Nobody can
fix the value of these coins,
which had
a fixed value once upon a time.
Each urn
in this museum is a reminder,
casting its 
shadow on our pomp and pride.
Rusted swords
and daggers tell the tale of some
suppressed dreams.

The past leaves, and lives
in the present.

[In memory of my visit to old 
king Sakthan Thampuran’s Palace]

First published in Grey Sparrow Journal, US.

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