Dust

No death is here, nor light, nor sound. Nothing remains of all that’s scattered on the ground. The fire raged and turned to ash this forgotten land. No wind to scatter it, to let something else grow. Layers of ash on ash never to be disturbed.

And yet in this place I see an imprint. The settled dust has been disturbed. Who walks and leaves these steps here where the fire lived, where it burned, where all hope was consumed? Let me know the name unspoken.

Why was the city burned, and who summoned the flames? No one remembers, no one knows. Is this the path of ignorance, the traces of which I spy? They lead beyond this city’s threshold into the wrecked buildings.

My spirit floats after this desecrator; above the trodden ash I fly. I follow the incriminating tracks. Round the corner I find her against the wall. A knife in hand, she scratches at the grey, colorless bricks. And her graffiti is the forbidden word.

I did not know the word, but when I saw it, I knew. I knew I knew what was forbidden me to know. She did not see me, nor turn to look. She walked away into the dayless-nightless void, and left me there, a weeping spirit, to see the word.