Arts have it owns magic and illusion, It mesmerizes the soul and the vision, It holds you with it and stops your mind, As you go deep to understand how the artist thought and kept his mind, The imaginations, the creations and the glory on the canvas, Right from the tussle of 15th century to today’s mess, From the issues of back then society to the people’s wise, All are portrayed in this paradise, Paintings speaking about the sufferings, The colors in it bringing out the shimmering, The magnum opus, the atelier, or the Midas touch, All through brush from the corners of Belgium and Dutch!
Some times it is not about the experience but about the stature, Sometimes it is more about the history and it’s clatter, Sometimes it is not about the buzz you create, Sometimes it is more about how quite you remain Sometimes it is not about how tall you stand Sometimes it is more about how long you stand!
The hall standing like the surreal echelon, The crown shimmering like the abstruse neon, Accolade as the hall of the town, In it’s history, cache the king and crown, Now it’s much more about the sagacity of the city, The pearls of crown, sheen the varsity!
Ramsagar Trek, India Barista enhances the class of bean, The destiny to make ahead, wishing from teen. Stalwart is just the phase of pallbearer, Lancing to kiss as a bearer.
Albert Hall, Jaipur, India The illusion or dream of adolescence, Destined to zenith or in verge of penance. The smile, the laugh, the voyage to dream, From a struggler to the meticulous beam. A craze which incorporated to be the one, The Sparks of echelon is like the son of sun.
Statue of Unity, Gujarat, India Kowtow the man who leads from front, From the germination to the eclipse frond. Riding on beacon like the king of palace, The leader of atrocious leading race. Hails from bottom to the crown, Lifting on the bridge which follows up & down. Belling like the phoenix wing, Moving between the swish of swing. Ramping the lid to spark the fire, Encroaching the naive love from the ire. Pacing the beats to lead the wave, hard from core but smile like suave. Nationalist or the biased nationalist does the favor, But surely awarded by the mix of flavor. Finally, the pace of sword, From the stall to the heartiest lord.
Jaipur, India Passing through the Midas never resides to allure, Falling down is like the shower which has to be pure. Brain, thinking and sieving to touch the need, Paying the blood for the thought I creed. Running through the bark for the dream, Lying with the pearl for the eclectic sheen. Beacon craving the veil of ordeal, Admiring the bow, as it aficionado the range of feel.
Chittorgarh Fort, Rajasthan, India They stood tall, they remain tall, They are the pride, who died but did not fall, They fought the battles, they lifted the baton, They kept the moustaches like the craton, They were the pillar, who lifted the forts, Had a smile while facing the swords.
Stockholm City Hall The Stockholm city hall or the golden hall, Where the nobility is celebrated like a ball, Every year the stage is set to accolade, To honor the best of date. A medallion, a game changer, the best in world, Shining like the soothing emerald.
The palaces holds the odyssey of human class, Sometimes the ruler rules the heart and mass, Sometimes it shares more about swords and war, Sometimes it glares the peace to near and far.