It is not always about the navigating the labyrinth of corridors
It is neither always about the people and power
The stones and birds and trees
Tell their stories too
Not all of them can sadly be understood
Small moments can hold exquisite spells of beauty
Like those last rays of the fading sun
On a back-office window
Or the stunning symmetry of those columns
And bays and cornices
How it must feel for the place
Whose story is long lost somewhere
To witness millions of stories
Being created each day
And stay silent through them all
