Never thought one could travel back to hours ,days ,years, centuries ago ,so long back, so far into an old sky, after such a history of bodies wiped out. I am poet with the mankind’s memory I had inherited when I was an egg ,before dad had embraced a current of electricity coming from waters.

Wind and sun, they had memories. They blew in as ghosts of electricity. There would come tiny men in fog and hoop through spaces in time, with their ghost feet twisted back, their faces green masks of dance.

They would dance their eyebrows in history’s backward movements. Electricity would kill all to ghosts and they stared like street lamps in halos of moths on rainy nights embracing electricity, by volition. They lost bodies to fire and earth.

Now we are dead in every corpse and still alive like men in corpses. Memory remains as an electricity and ghosts walk their lonely walk in mornings searching for bodies.

(recalling the poem “Nostalgia ” by Billy Collins)

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