My watchful friend
Witnesses my decay over the years.
 
I was a blooming palace once -
My limbs would echo of beautiful voices, laughter, and commanding steps

By no less than kings and their young brides.

I then started witnessing deaths:
One by one and until the Mahatman died.

Then all fell silent.

My rooms are empty of life, record keepers of people no longer remembered...

There are only those pictures and idols now. Bronze, clay, mud- but no life.

My only friend alive is this watchful banyan tree ... Who may have forgotten to shed over the years, bit has never set it's gaze upon anyone but me!