Baby Taj's Complaint

Does size matter? Apparently.

That's why you've never heard of me.

I'm just as pretty, more ornate;

but I'm 'Baby' - not so great.

.

Maybe I'm just less romantic -

not a maddened Emperor's antic.

I must say he was a little rude

building bigger in my neighbourhood.

.

I was here first, and I now I'm ... and!

My name's in (brackets) like I'm bland.

What's a mausoleum to do?

I just sit here and gently stew.

.

.

The Baby Taj is soooo pretty, including the inside. I have apparently failed to get any photos of the inside, don't ask me why or how -maybe it was technically against the rules. You can find some, as well as a brief summary of its history, here.

I did get one nice photo of the outside, but it's full of recognisable strangers and I'd feel bad about posting it, so the main photo is from Unsplash.

I hope you enjoyed this poem on how it might feel to be usurped as Agra's most important mahal. Let me know in the comments!

For more stories inspired by my Indian adventures, check out the following: