I looked up to these remnant carved, antique skies as I walked its corridors barefeet. The smell was old, old and royal. Like that of Kings read about only in past events of our history text books, and Shehen Shah passing by to check on the sculptures constructed on his order.
My feet tasted the Earth's dust and I realised that these have been walked on since ages, by people of all sorts, by people who've never been heard of and some whose names are immortal.I looked around slowly breathing the monument and soaking in what i could from the past as I tried to decipher the chiseled messages the ancient walls might want to convey to its spectator but failed. The carvings, like the very foundation they stood on and the very material they were engraved on had faded, died. Died with the ages they came from. And stood now just as a proof and portrayal of memoirs and forgotten events that people like us had never seen and barely tried their luck decrypting the hushed secrets they carried.