Old Air


mohenjo-daro
Mohenjo-daro, Sindh

The air grows older as it drains through the passages and doorways of
These ruins, where history stopped, where people leaked
Into the sand, were forgot.
If there is no memory left, did it ever really happen?
The stones feel the air drain past, patient, and say “yes, it did”.

The aged breezes surround, inhabit—an oozing, firesome force. They scorch crumbling brick, Caress the sleepers, curious if any faint dreams still stir,
In the soft, reddish dry light,
Under the changeless sunsets of forty wretched centuries.

mohenjo skeletonsThe air entwines legs, hair, imagination,
The whispers of spirits long gone, their bones still sprawled nearby, call.
Questions, asked like thought from just over the shoulder.
Faded sighs and cries from a room buried and forgotten, born only on the wind.

 

6/3/16

Memory

 

 

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4 Replies to “Old Air”

    1. You can. I’ve always been drawn to places of antiquity, for some reason. I was lucky enough to visit Mohenjo-daro once, many years ago, when they’d just started excavating it. It was something for a kid to experience for the first time, and it opened up the world to me. I realized from that visit that there was a whole lot more that had gone before than I’d ever realized. I think that sense of wonder that children have is something I’ve been chasing ever since. Maybe the sense of loss in this piece comes from knowing the feeling I once had, and comes from realizing what I’ve missed and looking for it again.

      Liked by 1 person

        1. It has given me my second wind. :-). I like this quote: “I’m hoping to be astonished tomorrow by I don’t know what.”
          ― Jim Harrison, “In Search of Small Gods”

          Makes the days more interesting.

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