The Old Prostitute At The Taj Mahal Poem by Sachin Ketkar

She reclines against the unfeeling marble
Of this exquisite abandoned hospital
Wearing a startling red lipstick
On her aged black lips
With a hope
That her flesh made light
By termites
Will be of some use
For minds turned horny
Under the influence
Of the emperor's grand white delusion
Of catastrophic proportions

An ageless river
Reeking with effluents
Rotten myths
And polythene
Waits for that dark silken flute-player to return
And restore her youth, grace and innocence
As they say he once did
To an old hag in the story

There is an empress buried here too

She died during childbirth I learn
Trying to give birth to her fourteenth child

These women must have realized by now
That the flute-player in question
Is not exactly famous
For keeping promises