Ilona Yusuf Sarai Amanat Khan neither the eloquent arches crumbling brickwork peacock glint of light on tile arabesque inscriptions speak though they might of the hand of the man who gave shape to his emperor’s vision the taj – elements of its brilliance here in his fiefdom – haven for travel weary horses humans nor the tufted ruins gaping brickwork grown through with roots and branches nor the villagers’ faces glimpsed through doorways along alleyways belie its history you can only guess currents that might sleep behind bright smiles lie latent in synapses dull aches locked in the sockets of old eyes like well-water still inscrutable
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