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by Nayana Menon

In the middle of a palace, a statuesque ruin
Riddled with joyous footsteps of the past
Amongst the weeds, a chair sits
Plain, unadorned.
Yet it has power.

Holding secrets of old,
It hums with memories untold
Memories of happiness,
Memories of pain
Memories of nothing, no achievements to gain.

And yet, here it sits
In a palace, no less
Watching clouds as they drift
A prison, with no one to confess

The evil behind the happiness known
Thought the seed of doubt has already been sown
Yet what is actually remembered is happy, not sad
Laughter and tales from a faraway land

Told by a lady who sat in this chair
Tales that, in these walls, are a fervent prayer
Now abandoned, this palace,
Carefully stands
Through weathered years
On Earth's weathered hands.