Poem: Form filling in a dead city

earthen lamps/ yusuf qattal tomb

The Historian sits at the foot of
a staircase. On the form where
his name must fit into very small,
impossible little boxes, in block
letters – his pencil draws little
earthen lamps.

In the event of the return, he
must brace himself for the
death of his city. Rocks, eaten
walls, dogs sit quiet with that
which remains – the memory of
a memory.

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0 Responses to Poem: Form filling in a dead city

  1. shub says:

    beautiful! Both poem and photograph!


  2. Sharanya says:

    Nice. The photo really adds something to it as well šŸ™‚


  3. sangeeta says:

    not bad – a pretty good effort šŸ™‚


  4. Sue says:

    I hate to break this to you.. but that is not a poem. That is overuse of the carriage return key.


  5. Sue: I am shattered! The guardian of typewriters and carriage return has spoken!