Stone steps rise from dirty lawns to reach hopelessly for nowhere.
The sceleton of a compound wall, the wet dirt under unkept bushes. An empty plot filled with the neighbour’s garbage. An electric pole wrapped with so much wire it’s like an insect caught in a cobwebs. Eighty years ago it was farmland, then a small shack, a home, an apartment, a memory of someone who moved away.
Time passes and forgets but there are still reminders that go way back. Someone lived there. There’s no reason to care but you can see. The steps don’t go nowhere. One they used to lead to someone’s home.
An old song once began playing over the rushing dunes from a nomads fable. Soon the song grew louder and louder till the cities markets were filled with the echo’s of melodic voices.
Like the sand in dunes that marked the city’s horizon, the people in the once crowed market were swept up. They flowed to the outskirts where the orange sun colored the sands. The weary caravans seeking shelter saw a city walk towards them. They cast aside their robes and heard the music too. Their camels abandoned, looked on as the humans went on their path.
The sands stretched on far beyond the roads and the trade routes. The patter of feet and voices of exodus were drowned by sand and the roar of pleasant hums. So they went into the sands of phantom voices and the city stood in pleasant silence.
The sky set and a purplish night fell over the dead city; so goes the nomads fable.
P Word Essay: Purple, phantom, people, playing, path.