Taj Mahal Poem by Sheena Blackhall

It reigns all glib jibes in.
This blend of marble, myth and jasmine-scented air
The sky, empties its moods into its pure face.

No-one thinks of its builders
Who'd sweated, cursed, gone home and kicked their wives
Who'd thrown their evening meal into the grate.

A British Princess wearing a crown of thorns
Pricked by a spindle courtiers overlooked
Wondered at love enshrined in stone
That any wife could earn such Royal love.

Passing through snake charmers, peddlers,
Lip curled Asian dogs, to enter this cool oasis
Like a great gold plate a desert's yielded up.
Each hardened brick of cynicism cracked
A wall of Jerico brought tumbling down

Two sisters took the Taj home in a camera
A batchelor shared his blood with a mosquito
I rediscovered the actual meaning of awe.