Hopeless vandals

We walk down the winding lanes
of the old city
Crowded with houses
made of bricks and mortar older
than the oldest person we could think of
We hold hands as we walk these lanes
marvelling that something could survive this long
Long after the kings
who built them
And long after the kings
who wanted to destroy them
We look up at them
envious
And they look down at us with hope
We lie down on the grass holding hands
with our gaze fixed on the Qutub Minar
As it stands tall, proud of its resilience
All the while mocking us for our own mortality
Our transience
And our gullibility for even hoping
that we could last even half as long
Challenging us to put up something,
anything against its formidable record
So we surrender.
By writing our names, the two of ours
and encircling them in a little heart
tucked away in a little corner
on one of its walls
Perhaps knowing, this might be our only shot
At forever.