Posted by Admin on 2 March 2008, 12:00 am
Environed in sunshine and despotism,
a spring of life uncoils in perfumed, sybaritic, splendour.
The prince, inviolate as the mahseer in his palace-lapping lake,
tradition-guarded and sambhar-proud, receives the Moghul’s yearly tribute:
unheedingly accepts and stores, unopened, bales of silk,
embroidered most cunningly – the skill of generations in each stitch.
Rich carpets, from Amber’s forsaken palace, robe a hundred
bales of Benares’ cloth of gold, where many a miniature
of the Chinese-Persian School, in collar-dark, is lost amidst
the egg-sized uncut diamonds, sapphires, and knee-deep hoards of pearls.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council