As Dawn was Breaking Over Agra


by Denis Dinopoulos

I feel so plundered you said, my eyes it’s as if 

suddenly they don’t belong to me; I feel like an 

escapee from my own mortality, from my own 

inability to understand let alone comprehend God’s 

miracle. l, inadvertently said: it was the emperor 

Jahan who commissioned it, stricken with grief at 

the death of his wife Mahal, he gathered the finest of 

artisans and craftsmen, architects and designers, to 

capture the essence of her beauty, this sigh of love. 

In rememberence to his deceased queen. What 

grows from the heart knows no words. 


As Dawn was breaking over Agra. And you were in 

a highly abstract mood, struggling to take hold of 

your feelings, to compress them into the faintest of 

sighs, your eyes were  one overflowing glow of 

well-being, you were out there, receiving God’s 

blessing underneath a sky of fast-fading stars. 


The Taj Mahal had stopped you in your tracks,  and 

you searched for words to describe it, but they were 

miles away, they were on the other side of the moon, 

strewn  all over the place on the dark side of mars; 

they were  shut tight in your very own dictionary 

between  hard covers, and so you stood wordless, 

your eyes like two falling stars, as I stood beside you 

waiting for you to recover, for we were only at the 

outskirts of it, by the front entrance  so to speak. 


Well-kept gardens separated us from it. People 

began to file passed us speaking in hushed tones, 

already the photographers had taken up their 

position and were offering their services, one 

approached us, testing his flashlight; he was the 

most friendliest, puffy-faced, with clear dark eyes 

and jet black hair,   proud of his Russian ZENIT 

TTL camera, offering to take our picture, but you 

refused, you were adamant, your were suddenly 

charged and uncompromising, no  you insisted, you 

wanted this moment stored only in memory, and in 

your heart, you said, if hearts can store pictures, and 

so you wrapped you arms around mine and pulled 

me away in the direction of the Taj, as the sun began 

to flex its muscles over the city of Agra.

Poems by Dennis Dinopoulos published in Indika: