Fiddler Of The Fort

From Amber heights in the winter sun

A crisp Jaipur sky unravels.

Mystic steps and dust from Rann,

Lingering whiff that travels.

Stood lonely yet so firm,

Golden bright in morning beam.

An ancient fort breathed its term,

Ravages that could never shy its gleam.

Against its shade in burgundy dotes

Sat the placid fiddler.

Ready to tune few myriad notes,

Above the sunken river.

Few tourists swamped keen to listen,

The melodious symphony.

A mirrored palace above glisten,

To its tale of bigotry.

Doe eyed princess of treasured times,

A beauty that charmed the land.

Gave her heart to dandling chimes,

For a rugged Nomad from the sand.

Galloped he in the swain,

Under the scorching sky.

For love had soothed his every pain,

Beyond the fortress high.

Scarcely though his eyes could meet,

Haggard and lost he begged for little water.

From distant still his shadow did greet

The princess in the mirror.

Outraged but the king and guards,

Seething sword found its way.

Like a dwindling pack of cards,

The Nomad and his horse lay. 

A desert breeze blew from the west,

The princess shut her window.

Mourning tide she braved to rest,

Under the feathered pillow.

Of never ending love,

Thus the fiddler sang his ode.

Bracing warm like a docile dove,

Nomad and his princess abode.

A penny or two the tourists gave,

As the fiddler finished his song.

In the winds his scarlet wave,

Silent again behind the throng.

It is said that even today,

The mirrored palace remain close.

Few roses bloom on its way,

Lyrics that the fiddler did not compose.