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1540
Samarkand


He pressed the fresh, cut musk melon to his lips and sighed pleasurably. His servants around him could not tell if it was from the taste of the fruit or if their master was satisfied with the words he had just composed and looked over. Either way it was not their place to say otherwise. This was the Padishah! Ruler of Herat to the Zagros, from the Punjab to Samarkand. To interrupt him could very well mean death for the unfortunate soul, and that unfortunate soul's family and even their acquaintances! The whispered rumors of the Babur Mirza's temper in his old age was the stuff of legend that would no doubt ring through the ages of mankind!!!

For now though, Babur Padishah was content. He licked his lips of the melon juices and suddenly and without warning began to recite the words he had written.

Oh beloved Samarkand. City set amongst my ancestors land.
How I have chased you like a lover. Stealing in the night to you over and over.
What is it about thee? Making my heart quake and my sight hard to see.
I can hear you calling, my sweet. When the sun comes tomorrow together we will greet...


Babur ran his tongue over the words experimentally. Giving a grunt, with no indication if he was satisfied or not, he leaned back in his divan and peered around himself for several minutes. As if this place was foreign to him and he had just been somewhere else. After several minutes of this he shook his head and let out a wet laugh. He turned back to his writings and spoke as he did so:

Not even Hind with riches untold. Kept me from having you in my arm's fold. Lodi be damned. Loot and allegiance I commanded.
I left the land of no candlesticks. I rode to you and broke the Uzbeks and Tajiks. It was I. Who entered through your gates.
It was I. Who brought you to heel.
It was I. Who made you grand once more.
It was I. Who with the Blood of Genghis and Timur, the Blood of Khans! Conquered.
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