You're seeing the cusped arches,
the brilliant blue tiles on the dome,
you're walking through the narrow corridors and taking in the smells.
Heritage smells of yesterday's rain,
dried leaves and sleepy bats.
While you see the beauty of light
Entering from the perforated walls...
I listen, I listen to what each element says.
The doors complain of it's bolts
Rattling from the vibrations of the
Vehicles driving by, every day.
The chajjas are done with the pigeon beat and are ready to bribe the cleaners.
The stucco is employing kaala jaadu on desperate lovers' graphic declarations of love.
History in all it's layers is trying to
Adapt to our times, the modern, as
We call it... fussy as it may be,
it's also very proud and adamant.
And in this beauty, I revel.
I sit and I listen, I laugh with it.
It's like a romance that never dies.
All these things they've seen.
If only you're ready to close
Your searching eyes and listen...
Every place has a character defined by the sounds you hear in there.
Every chirp, every creak, the traffic outside,
The maulvi's prayer call, the faraway chanting...
The kids from nearby schools running
Into the streets.
Every place has a story to tell.
Eagerly awaiting ears that will
Stop and listen, join them for
An afternoon sulaimani and rusk.