I looked out of

Shah Jahan’s window

and watched the sun setting

over the Taj Mahal.

The Yamuna was blue silk

under the rose-satin sky;

the latticework let in

a cool October breeze.

I imagined the imprisoned Emperor

watching the yearning tomb

on lonely nights under a

quintessential golden moon.

The Yamuna collected his

unheard sighs.

Nowadays, I spend my sleepless nights

watching the same moon centuries later

from my unhinged, creaking window,

wondering at your abandonment.

The rivers, too, collect my estranged sighs.

                                                            ~ Jagari Mukherjee

                                                         Kolkata, India